#please I need a mash mutual who's as insane as me

[stroyent]

a swamp rats threesome where Charles does one thing at a time, he does it very well, and then he moves on

[hiding-under-the-willow]

please tell me more abt Yancy in mark TV

Okay so my thoughts on Yancy in all the Markiplier TV stuff is really a mash up if a lot of different headcanons I've collected from different places and then some.

So like, big fan of the headcanon that Yancy is one of Mark and Celine's kids, and he ended up in prison cause he got blamed for the events of wkm. I know it's not perfectly supported by the canon or anything but it's fun, so, y’know, who cares. I can do whatever I want lol. And then I don't know how common this headcanon actually is bc I picked it up from like one specific fic, but Yancy as the security guard for Wilford's club in Wilford Motherloving Warfstache.

So like, Yancy grows up in Markiplier Manor for most of his life, Celine gets custody during the divorce, the events of wkm happen (maybe Yancy is the one who told Celine about the poker night, having heard about it from William, and that's why Celine shows up in the middle of wkm?) So then when Celine goes off and never comes back he goes out looking for her, police show up while he's there, and between intense unethical police interrogations and the fucked up house immensely fucking with his head, he ends up convinced he did do the crime and pleads guilty, landing him in Happy Trails eventually. Canon ensues, Yancy decides he's gonna get out on parole after God knows how long he's been in there. At some point he meets Wilford, neither of them recognize eachother really, but there is like, some subconscious shit working definitely. Wilford's like, 'hey do you want to work at my club? I'll walk you right out of this fucking prison' and Yancy is like 'nah man, I'm gonna keep on track to make parole, do this the right way, but if the job offer is still open in a few months 👀' and Wilford's like 'okay, sick' and so when Yancy gets out a few month's later, there's Wilford inexplicably, ready to pick him up. And so he goes to work as security at the club, and things are actually pretty chill most of the time, so Yancy's got a lot of free time to do his own thing, and he's got no fucking clue where Wil's money comes from but he gets payed well, so he's enjoying the job, even if maybe he'd rather be performing. He does some community theater stuff here and there, occasionally performs in the club, often ends up ranting about his narrative ideas to Wil after hours. And eventually Wil is like 'hey, you know I own a TV network right? I could give you a show.' And Yancy absolutely fucking takes that opportunity. Which is how he ends up at Markiplier TV.

I feel like his show(s) would be this weird tonal mess where it's like a Disney Channel musical sitcom, there's songs and comedy and it's all very much giving young teen drama with constant bits and inconsistent lore, but then the storylines all deal with very serious and realistic topics. There's fucked up families, and deep dives into the horrors of the American prison system, and death, and grief, all portrayed very realistically and with all the complexity they deserve. But also all of the character's act like disney sitcom characters the second they're not handling the serious stuff, and there's always at least one musical number per episode. It's actually probably really cool if you're into weird shit like that (as I absolutely would be), the video essays discussing it are probably insane. But it maybe doesn't speak to the average audience lmao. Yancy doesn't really realize and doesn't care. It's reaching the audiences it needs to.

Anyways I think him and Bim get along the vast majority of the time, they've got a mutual love of theater and a mutual hatred of Ed, cause I mean, look at Ed's lore and then look at Yancy. Yeah Yancy fucking hates Ed and his whole deadbeat dad thing. Luckily fights around the office are so common here that it's pretty easy for Yancy to get away with punching Ed in the face a little bit any time he says some asshole shit. Also maybe everyone turns a little bit of a blind eye to it. So really he feels right at home.

I think Google freaks him out from the get-go, and he's a little more interested in trying to get some info on the weird android shit from Bing at first, but quickly finds out that Bing can be like twice as uncanny as Google, and so he just kind of ends of steering clear of both after not too long in the office. I think they grow on him eventually but it takes some warming up lol

I think he and The Host actually get along. Like, maybe he freaked Yancy out a little bit at first, and then he started to realize the two of them had a lot in common in terms of their opinions and beliefs, and instantly he started getting all buddy buddy with the guy, and then it was the Host's turn to be a little freaked out, cause he's not exactly used to people being so enthusiasticlly friendly towards him. So they become friends. Yancy's always there to make sure he gets included in work get togethers and such since some of the other guys find him intimidating.

Dr. Iplier finds him a little exasperating seeing ad he is probably constantly getting hurt and also constantly leading to other injuries around the office (mostly Ed's, let's be honest), but, y’know, his enthusiasm and friendliness around the office probably win him over eventually, and his kindness to the Host probably helps.

The Jims and Yancy get along great, in fact Yancy is probably the only person around the office who actively gets along with them besides Wilford.

Wilford is always very supportive of Yancy, and Yancy still picks up shifts at the club a few times a week. I think maybe he's the only one who's met Abe out of everyone else at the office bc of his job. Abe knows who Yancy is and has tried dropping hints to Wil a few times, but they are not getting picked up. So it just kind of goes unspoken.

Dark and Yancy absolutely have the strangest dynamic. Dark definitely knows who Yancy is. Yancy does not know who Dark is, but I think he recognizes bits of his mother in Dark's personality and actions, and it freaks him out. Some one points put once that Dark and Yancy look alike and that they've got matching moles under their eyes and Dark leaves without saying anything, visibly upset, and Yancy starts wearing a bandaid over that cheek every day after. No one brings up that shit again. Dark basically let's Yancy get away with anything around the office, seemingly from a sense of guilt. Funds any ideas he has, let's him get away with bending rules, or beating the shit out of Ed, or whatever. But then Yancy does something minor, or something that puts himself in danger, and Dark starts lecturing, and Yancy gets real pissed off. The office stays tense for several days after every time. I think those are just about the only times at which Wil starts to recognize him. He usually doesn't sit on the thought for very long, as he's prone to do. But maybe he treats Yancy to a little something the next day any time one of those arguments goes down. It helps a bit, for both of them.

I don't think he knows the details of what went down in the manor, or that he's seen Mark since, or that he knows about Dark and Mark's whole fucking thing, and I hate to think about how incredibly badly it would go if he did find out.

[yellowocaballero]

Jon's Trapped in Temporal Time-Out: A TMA Time Travelling Tale

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

I kept on bitching about how much I dislike the beginning scenes of TMA time travelling AUs so my friend @lazuliquetzal​ (who wrote the best TMA time travelling fic in the fandom) told me to put my money where my mouth is. It’s nowhere near her level, but in my defense it’s probably even stupider than Reflection. 10K of stupid under the cut. 

Sasha was tipping some whiskey from her secret flask into her tea when Tim poked his head into the breakroom and announced that he had found a corpse.

Sasha and Martin, hunched over their paltry lunches and pathetic lives situated upon a rickety metal breakroom table and equally rickety metal chairs, stared at him. 

“Like,” Sasha said finally, “a human one?”

Tim shrugged. “Humanoid? I didn’t want to poke it and see if it was fleshy, so I guess the jury’s out.”

Hm. Sasha put her flask away. The day was no longer boring, so it was unnecessary. 

The most relevant questions ought to be asked first. “Should we tell Jon?”

“He might throw a bitch fit about how corpses are unhygienic, so no?”

Martin drained his tea and stood up from the rickety metal chair, resigned. “I’ll get the broom.”

****

There was, indeed, a corpse in the Archives.

More specifically, in the stacks. The worst place to die, or least be dumped. Sasha had to admit the logic of it: it was the darkest depths of the library that Martin had informed her was ‘somewhat creepy’ and ‘kind of ominous’ so ‘please stop sleeping there you’re going to give me a heart attack’. After Martin flipped on a few lights that were never flipped on (apparently Elias was a cheapskate, which explained the breakroom) they could all gawk at the corpse to their heart’s content. 

Very kindly and thoughtfully, Tim asked Martin if he wanted to stay out of the library and maybe to ‘tell someone’ or something. Both Sasha and Tim had mutually and silently agreed that Martin seemed the type to have a delicate constitution. Granted, he hadn’t seemed the type to win Magnus Anarchist every month by breaking into abandoned buildings with absolutely no shame, so maybe he was the kind that surprised you. 

But Martin had just looked a little unimpressed. “Do you seriously think this is my first corpse? I went to university.”

That somewhat intimidated Sasha, who abruptly worried that she had missed out on an essential university experience again. “Is that a typical university experience?”

Martin paused a beat. 

“Uh,” he said, “yeah, sure, of course. Hazing, you know.”

“Is that what hazing…?”

“Fraternities.”

Tim, from where he had been standing at the entrance to the stacks snapping on the sterile gloves he had liberated from the cleaning supply closet, looked delighted. “You were in a frat too, Martin? What kind of hardcore frat had corpse hazings? Was it the Sigma Gammas? My frat always thought they were way too crazy, but we were a business one -”

“You know what,” Martin said, “let’s just worry about the corpse.”

After Sasha tied her hair in a ponytail and Martin snapped on his own gloves, they awkwardly approached the aisle where Tim had been trying to find a reference book for Jon. Sasha was worried that they would have to hunt for it a little, or that there would be a bad jump scare, but when they found it she saw that it wasn’t subtle at all.

It was sprawled on the ground, face mashed into the cheap and somewhat gross carpet. Sasha approached it with absolutely no hesitation, which Tim and Martin gladly let her do, and squatted down to get a better look at the figure. 

She definitely needed to make a coroner’s report. She was the objective expert in coroner’s reports. 

 “Tim, can you run back and get one of Jon’s silly little tape recorders for my coroner’s report?”

“Did you just see that on the telly?” Tim asked skeptically. “Because if you did -”

“Oh, here one is. That’s really convenient!” Martin grabbed one off the shelf and pressed play, letting the tape roll. “Good idea, Sasha. We need proof to Jon that we were researching.”

Probably...not what Jon meant for them to be researching, but Sasha liked to believe that it was the intent that mattered. She pulled a pencil out of her pencil skirt pocket, poking the figure thoughtfully. “Report by Sasha James, Archival Assistant.” There, now it was work. “At 1:30pm today, Tim Stoker discovered a corpse in the Archives, thereby referred to as John Doe -”

“Do we have to call it John Doe?” Tim complained, standing next ot her and crossing his arms. “Then we have too many Johns, it’ll get confusing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sasha said dismissively. “Ours is Jon, this guy’s John. Completely different.”

“Sasha, I’m not sure that’s how words work.”

“What are you, an English major?”

“Yes! I was an editor for a living!”

“Sorry if I don’t listen to guys who were fired from book editing school -”

“Uh,” Martin said, “have we checked to see if he’s actually dead?”

Sasha and Tim fell silent. Sasha looked at Tim. Tim shook his head. 

“Seriously, mate?” Sasha asked, unimpressed. 

“I didn’t want to touch the corpse!” Tim cried. “So sue me! It’s not as if he’s moving!”

Pussy. Sasha gently reached out and pushed aside a little of the corpse’s very long and pretty curly hair. What was that, 3C? Jesus, that had to be work. Sasha was 3A and the amount of hair care products she owned was insane.

She waved her hand at the boys for silence and put her thumb against his pulse, concentrating hard. Martin quietly walked over and crouched down too, eyeing his chest. 

“I don’t feel a pulse,” Sasha said finally. 

“Also, uh, I’m not a doctor,” Martin said, “but he’s definitely not breathing.”

“I told you,” Tim said defensively. “You just look at the thing, and you go - yep, that’s a corpse!”

“Corpse appears to be an ethnically ambiguous adult man with very nice hair,” Sasha said loudly. Martin helpfully held out the recorder to catch her voice better. “Maybe 190cm. Incredibly skinny - potential cause of death. He’s dressed in...some very ratty clothing. Potentially homeless.”

“It definitely smells,” Tim said, pinching his nose. Sasha didn’t blame him - the clothing was an overlarge green hoodie, ratty and threadbare, and his jeans weren’t any better. His boots were worn and soft leather. “Maybe he’s a homeless guy who snuck in and died?”

“That’s so sad,” Martin said softly. “Also a little gross.”

“Have some respect for the dead, guys,” Sasha said, as she poked the dead guy with a pencil. “Tim, go flip him over.”

Tim held his hands up, stepping away. “I couldn’t possibly. Martin loves flipping people over.”

“This again?” Martin asked, frustrated. “This is just like when you made me handle the Rawlings case because you’re scared of the suburbs!”

“They have too many eyes, Martin!”

“I am surrounded by cowards,” Sasha noted for the recorder. Nothing for it, then. Sasha carefully straightened, wobbling on her heels, before solidly wiggling her hands underneath the corpse’s chest. He was cold - dead a while. 

It was surprisingly difficult to flip over a limp adult man. Sasha was strong, but the corpse’s flesh was weak, and he was all floppy. Eventually Tim got over himself long enough to help her, making a very disgusted face the entire time, and they were able to finally get a good look at the man’s face.

Abruptly, upon seeing it, they all quieted. 

There was something about seeing a man splayed out on the ground that was a little funny, if you worked for the Magnus Institute and had probably encountered a Leitener two years ago and lost all empathy. No more impediments in the search for science. But there was something very different about looking at a person, who had a nose and lips and a very ratty hoodie, and knowing that it was no longer a person. Just a lot of cloth and meat and blood and organs and nice hair that once was a person, back when things were easier and the world was a little less harsh.

But maybe Sasha was caught by sentimentality: after all, the corpse looked a little like Jon.

Judging from the stunned faces of her compatriots as they all bent around the figure, they all thought the same thing. Tim’s jaw was open, and Martin’s hand was covering his mouth in shock. 

“Man,” Tim said. “This sucks. And it’s really creepy.”

“He must have been really gorgeous,” Martin said. “That’s so sad.” 

Actually, Sasha tilted her head and took another look. He had sharp and severe features, elegant and striking. A large and thin, sharp nose, and equally sharp lips. His face was just as sharp and gaunt, as emancipated as the rest of him. He had strange scars trailing up his neck and curving around his jaw, but it just kind of accentuated the intense atmosphere. 

It was probably a pretty stupid thing to focus on, but in her defense it wasn’t really the face of a homeless guy. Well, maybe. Hot homeless people existed.

Sasha frowned. She’s only met one other person this hot. 

“Hey,” she said, “doesn’t he look like Jon?”

Both the men titled their heads. 

Finally, Tim said, “Nah, he’s hotter.”

“Agreed,” Sasha said. “I think the scars really do it.” 

“Uh, guys,” Martin said. 

Sasha grabbed her tape recorder out of Martin’s hands, resuming her coroner’s report. “Subject appears to be in his thirties. Weirdly attractive, but that’s probably not as important as we feel it is.” She looked down at his hands, carefully using her pencil to push up the sleeve. “What looks like an aged and badly healed burn scar on his right hand. Supports homeless guy evidence.”

“Knife scar over his throat,” Tim quietly observed. “Someone tried to kill this guy.”

“Guys,” Martin said. 

“Well, I guess this is the point where we worry about body disposal,” Sasha said, straightening. “I think Elias could handle this discreetly and professionally, but that might involve letting Jon know. And I don’t think any of us want that kind of stress in our lives.”

“So, are we not even pretending to want to call the cops, or…?”

“Listen to me!”

Both Tim and Sasha shut up, somewhat guiltily. Martin had straightened too, fists balled, looking firm and determined and resolute - everything that Martin wasn’t, really. Martin lived unsure of himself, never expressing his own feelings or ending every opinion with an “I don’t know, maybe, that’s just my thoughts, what do you think?”. 

So Tim and Sasha paid attention, and when Sasha nodded encouragingly at him he seemed to find further courage. Solemnly, with the air of a wise man by the side of the road, Martin said, “This guy isn’t hotter than Jon.”

Christ. Sasha takes it all back.

 Tim propped a hand on his hip supportively as Sasha rolled her eyes. “Look, mate,” Tim said, “I know that you think Jon’s the hottest person in existence, and maybe objectively he’s fine as hell, but once you know him for longer than three months he loses all attractiveness. It would be like being into the DMV clerk. The really pretentious cousin at all of your family reunions who tries to explain your own job to you. The dude in your English class who thinks he invented feminism.”

“That was you,” Sasha said. 

“I am the objective expert in Jon,” Martin said firmly, shutting down the dissent. “He’s, like, my muse, okay? And can I say, as I have spent so many long hours memorizing the curve of his jaw - that’s the same jaw.”

If Sasha had a retort to that, or if Tim wanted to judge Martin for his taste in men further, neither of them had a chance. There wasn't an opportunity to say anything more, because the corpse opened its eyes. 

Sasha’s first thought was this: wow, what green eyes. 

Sasha’s second thought was: the fuck?

His eyes didn’t focus on her, or snap anywhere. They drifted a little lazily, fixed on the right, but the man was undoubtedly aware. His fingers twitched, he tilted his head from left to right, and his left hand - doubtlessly the hand that still felt texture - clenched the thin and cheap rug. The man’s jaw slackened a little, as if in surprise. 

For their part, the Assistants frantically looked at each other, all conveying the exact same thought - you said he was dead!

Sasha froze to her spot, petrified. She could handle corpses, or coroner’s reports, or mysteries. Sasha was intelligent, unkind, firm, socially incompetent, and a Libra. She could handle the dead, but the living? Sasha had no idea what to do with alive people.

But Tim did. He hesitated two moments, reeling back in shock, before he abruptly composed himself. He crouched down to the guy, and modulated his voice to sound calming and firm. “Hey, don’t strain yourself. Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere?”

The man turned his head in Tim's direction, hiding his expression from Sasha, but she saw Tim’s eyes widen. Martin, standing closer to his feet, wrung his hands - clearly torn on what to do, uncertain how to help. Martin always hated being uncertain how to help the most. Which was pretty unfortunate, because Martin always wanted to help, and Martin was always uncertain. 

“Can you speak?” Tim asked gently. “If you can’t speak, go ahead and knock on the floor for me, okay?”

“If we pack him into your car, we can say that we found him on the street,” Sasha piped up. As much as she distrusted NHS, and as much as the NHS refused to touch anybody who had ever stepped foot inside the Institute, they could hardly refuse somebody if they just lied their ass off about it. “They’ll have to treat him then, right?”

“We could make it so much worse if we move him,” Martin said quickly, just as strangely firm. “We need to take our chances with 999.”

“We don’t even know if he’s injured,” Sasha pointed out, somewhat optimistically. “Maybe this whole thing can just, like, not be a problem.”

Yeah, Sasha definitely preferred corpses. 

The man was opening and closing his mouth, before he coughed wetly. Sasha clinically noted that it was the first time she had seen his chest move. As Tim reached forward, murmuring gently, and helped the man sit up, she saw that his chest didn’t move at all.

“Alright, let’s try to get you up.” Tim helped the man shift so he was leaning against the bookcase - uncomfortable, but a better position if he started coughing up blood. “We should fetch you some water - Martin, I don’t think he has any injury like that, he just seems out of it. His eyes aren’t focusing on me at all.”

Strangely, the man scoffed at that. The sound made him cough again, but the derision was unmistakable.

The derision was extremely familiar. 

When Sasha looked at Martin his eyes were wide behind his glasses, and she knew that he had heard the same thing that she did. 

Finally, with a raspy and hoarse voice, the man said, “Well, isn’t this fucking fun.”

Everybody stared at him. His voice...different, definitely, with a less posh accent and strained vocal cords scratching his tones. But when Sasha glanced at Tim, she just knew that he was remembering when Jon had insisted on coming into work with a terrible cold and Martin had to bully him home. He had sounded eerily like…

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the man said. 

Tim, from where he was crouched next to the guy, turned his attention back to him. “I’m a funny guy, but last time I checked head injuries aren’t a joke.” He tracked his finger across the man’s eyes, frowning when they didn’t follow. “You definitely have a concussion, mate. If you can walk, we need to -”

“Lord, alright, I get it.” The man raised his burned hand and clumsily rubbed his eyes. “You’re mad at me, I’m sleeping on the couch, whatever. Is all of this really necessary?”

“Uh,” Tim said intelligently. “Mate, I’m not your boyfriend.”

The man waved his other hand in Tim’s direction as he pressed his fingers into his eyes in exhaustion. “I’m hardly speaking to you.” Tim’s jaw dropped in shock as the man angled his face upwards, the crown of his head jamming uncomfortably against the metal shelving. “In my defense, I was doing the best I could with the resources you gave me. It’s water under the bridge. I’ve forgotten about it already! So let’s just get back to our eldritch hellscape.”

Everybody stared at each other. 

“We should move this into the break room,” Martin said. “There’s tea there.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Jon said, “making Martin into a caricature of himself. You like Martin, you told me so.”

“Counterpoint,” Sasha said weakly, “the bullpen has Jon. And I really don’t want to explain this to Jon.”

“I don’t even know who this one is,” the man said. “What? Not going to tell me?”

“Okay, like, fucking rude, but whatever.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” Tim said firmly, reaching out and putting a firm hand on the man’s arm. The man didn’t recoil or jerk away, just looking down in vague surprise. “But they aren’t here right now. You’re in the basement of the Magnus Institute, alright? I’m Tim Stoker, at your service, and these are my coworkers. I think you have a brain injury. If you can walk, we need to get you -”

“I can’t eat here,” the man said, but he made no effort to remove Tim’s arm. He moved his other hand, pressing it against Tim’s own, as if they were friends. “Cutting me off from my Knowledge -” it was capitalized, Sasha could hear it “ - chaining me to my desk, for - what? You’re not even answering me? Come on!” The man’s voice raised, and for the first time Sasha could hear something ragged in it. “Don’t give me the silent treatment!”

“Jon.”

It was Martin, standing at a distance from the man - from all of them. He was wringing his hands again, shoulders hunched and tense, but his expression was caught in that same mysterious firmness. 

The man didn't react. Not in surprise, not in shock, not in unrecognition. He just scowled a little, ignoring all of them. 

“Jon,” Martin said, louder. “This isn’t solving anything. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not the one being stubborn, Martin,” Jon - Jon?! - muttered, folding his arms. Like an infant. Like, hypothetically, something Jon would do. “I just don’t think omniscient fear gods should be petty.”

Everybody looked at each other. 

“This needs tea,” Martin proclaimed finally, and everybody nodded in silent agreement.

Every nodded in agreement - even, strangely enough, Jonathan Sims himself. 

****

This plan had a few complexities. 

The first complexity was dealing with Jon - their Boss - himself. In an act of cunning psychological warfare, Martin had gone ahead of them and used his endless and infinite subtle acts of manipulation to guarantee that Jon wouldn’t interrupt them. This situation was already Quite A Bit, nobody wanted to babysit their boss. 

Who Sasha frequently felt as if she babysat a bit. Having the youngest person in the office be the very rigid and authoritarian boss was objectively a little funny. But you know what’s not funny? Transphobia. 

Eventually Martin came back and waved them forward, and Tim gently yet firmly dragged the man upwards and put a hand on his back. 

“Do you mind if I touch you?” Tim asked. He sounded resigned about it - barely expecting Jon to respond. “Let me know how you want me to guide you.”

“Oh, it’s whatever. If you’re going to play it this way.” Jon easily looped his arm through Tim’s, who didn’t bother to mask his shock. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sasha went ahead of them, watching Tim walk Jon down the aisle - hah! - with his arm looped through his elbow and a hand on his back. It was exactly the kind of care and meticulousness that Sasha always saw in him when it came to others. He literally walked grannies across the street. It was horrendous. She got second-hand embarrassed whenever she saw it.

Tim was loudly, extremely, messily kind. He was a person who adopted lost causes, like young men too grumpy to make real friends and women who only knew academia and never people. Sasha told him that once he got his teeth into something he never let go. It would get him into trouble one day. Maybe it already had. 

Sure enough, when Sasha opened the library door for them and peeked her head into the hallway, she saw that Jon’s office door was very firmly shut and locked. Even more incriminatingly, she heard his cute little theater drama monologues starting. Tim had found Jon’s theater aspirations very adorable and he had tried recording them to put on his Snapchat and maybe get him discovered by an agent, but unfortunately the videos made Tim’s phone bleed. They had given Martin ten pounds to taste the blood. Man would do anything for ten pounds, but seeing as they all worked this job that probably applied to all them. 

A workplace made out of people who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare. It was kind of a miracle they were still alive. Sasha was a little uncertain how she had survived to thirty five, actually. 

Once Sasha gave the all clear, Tim was able to bring Jon (Neo-Jon? Nega-Jon? Dark Jon? Mean Jon? No, that was just Jon) into the bullpen. Softly narrating what he was doing, he pulled out a chair and lowered Jon into it. 

Homeless Jon hasn’t been blind for very long, Sasha noted clinically. Long enough that he seemed more mildly irritated by it than anything else, but instead of orienting himself or testing out where he was he just kind of slumped in his chair. 

“Jon - uh, the Boss is taken care of?” Tim asked Martin, who was rapidly bustling into the bullpen with four cups of tea that he seemed to be under the impression would help. Tim had sat Homeless Jon in Martin’s chair, which seemed to fluster Martin a bit. 

“Uh, yeah. Gave him a normal statement to get his guard down, then five of the - you know, weird - statements and said that he has to go through all of them today. He’ll be in there for an hour at least.” 

Sasha frowned. “After two he gets a headache and gets bitchy.”

“Three o’clock exactly,” Tim said solemnly.

“Oh, leave off,” Homeless Jon said, “it wasn’t that bad.”

Everybody double taked and looked at each other significantly - which was quickly becoming their predominant mode of communication in a ruthless act of ableism. But Martin just held out a cup of tea, faltering as he clearly stopped to wonder the easiest way to give it to him. 

“Can you hold out your hands, Jon? I have some tea for you. It’s hot, so be careful, okay?”

“If the tea’s spiders I’m going to take it out on Annabelle,” Weird Jon said, but he held out his hands anyway and let Martin put the mug in them. He sniffed it cautiously, checking for spiders, before taking a cautious sip. 

To Sasha and Tim, Martin said, “I know, he’s going to fall asleep after two. I mean, it might be because I drugged his tea a little -”

Weird Jon spat out his tea back into the mug. 

“ - so we shouldn’t be interrupted,” Martin said brightly, clapping his hands. “Now! I think it’s time for explanations, don’t you?” He turned his mighty gaze upon Thankfully Blind Jon, who was occupied carefully holding the tea away from himself. “Drink your tea, Jon.”

Jon drank his tea. His expression twisted. “It tastes just like his.”

Everybody looked at each other. Tim mouthed the word ‘time traveller’ very clearly. Both Sasha and Martin nodded. It was the obvious explanation. 

“An explanation now, please,” Martin said pleasantly. “If you’re a time traveller, you can tell us. This is a safe space.”

Jon-from-the-future’s expression harshened in creases. He hadn’t once relaxed, expression permanently tightened in annoyance and disgruntlement. It was ridiculously Jon. 

Definitely a time traveller. You didn’t work at the Magnus Institute without secretly spending your life deeply hoping you run into a time traveller. Every researcher upstairs secretly prayed to discover the majesty. Everyone in Artifact Storage eagerly gathered around mysterious clocks and dared each other to touch them. Sasha, Queen of Truth-or-Dare, was the undisputed expert in making other people touch weird clocks and recording their reactions.

“Fine,” Super Time Traveller Jon said. “I know this is what you want. Statement of a stupid punishment by the pettiest little color in the evil crayon box. Recorded by the Archivist, in situ. Statement begins.”

Wow, Jon still had his job in the future? That’s a surprise. 

Martin was mouthing the word ‘evil crayon box’ to himself, looking increasingly concerned. The forgotten tape recorder, clenched in Sasha’s fist without her even realizing it, clicked and whirred. 

Then the Archivist began to speak. 

***

In the hazy amber of a memory, there exists an office.

You can see it clearly in your mind’s Eye, even now. You could likely navigate all of it blindfolded - which you now see that your god has the intention to test. Every corner of it is known to you, in the most subtle and mundane of ways. There’s a dust bunny in that corner, never tidied. A mysterious stain on the far right ceiling. The faint smell of blood, just under the vents. The hot waft of tea; your hands wrapped around a mug. 

Through these lonely offices, ghosts roam. They cling to desks and chairs; lingering in favorite mugs or in forgotten hair ties. A metal file cabinet holding neat rows of clothing, blood-stained jackets abandoned. A whiteboard with stubborn flakes of dried marker, forgotten handwriting clinging to life. These imprints no longer evoke terror or grief or pain. They are as familiar as the bloodstains and tea. Even death, eventually, is familiar. After long enough in a nightmare, it becomes indistinguishable from reality. 

There is nothing unfamiliar in the Magnus Institute.

Nothing save these voices, emerging from nothing. Every one of your six million senses have been cut off - your hundred eyes reduced to none. You are cognizant only of two familiar voices, and one unfamiliar one. A firm hand, with calloused fingers from leafing through aged paper. A creaky desk chair - Martin’s, undoubtedly, always squeaking as he fidgeted in distraction. The air tastes the same as it used to back then, before the AC broke and no repairman would step inside to repair it. Daisy did, eventually. Three familiar voices, rendered unfamiliar by the harsh tides of wind and cruel plastic hands. 

You are afraid of very little, these days. In this world that you’ve built, there is nothing that can harm you. The twisted little puppet strung up in his tower has been long since been disposed of, and the awful and terrifying future has settled into a gentle present. The apocalypse grows tedious after a while, and the buffet of fears start tasting a little samey.

But if anything could frighten you, this would. If anything would petrify you, it would be Tim’s kind smile, which died a year before Tim did. If anything could freeze you to your chair, it would be the sight of Sasha with red-rimmed eyes asking why you never even noticed that she was gone. 

The sanctuary of memory corrupted. A mental place of safety infiltrated. A mind turned inside out, exposing its vulnerable flesh to the world. 

There is nothing else this could be but your own personal hell. 

Your loyal servant crouches on bended knee, giving this final prayer to you. He asks, humbly and with great reverence, one simple question:

Why couldn’t this have waited until after I got my milk?

***

The spell ruptured.

It was almost tangible, like a change in air pressure making your ears pop. Sasha blinked harshly, rubbing at her ears and trying to soothe strange ringing. Tim exhaled heavily and Martin screwed his eyes open and shut harshly, as if he was seeing spots. 

The only person unaffected was Weirdly Christian Jon, who was slumped in Martin’s chair with his arms folded over his chest. He was still looking at the ceiling - speaking to whoever he had been addressing this entire time. 

“Just one day,” Jon was saying. “Just one day! It was going to be a nice day! We had decided to take a day trip to the Flesh garden and have a picnic! My darling and beautiful husband was going to make us a cake! ‘Walk down to the Hell corner store’, my husband says. ‘Pick us up some Eldritch milk’, he says. ‘Why do I have to do it’, I says, ‘I’m in the middle of something’. ‘We need cake for bridge night with the girls and I’ll divorce you if you don’t do it’, he says. I didn’t even change out of my nightmare pyjamas! What did I ever do to you? How are you still upset about the eye thing?”

Sasha and the Assistants, still digesting the extremely disturbing monologue, let him talk. Sasha was caught up in how it felt exactly like Jon’s little drama monologues. Granted, he had obviously gotten a lot more practice - guy could go to Broadway - but the weird lilting and falling sing-songyness was just the same. And he only ever did that for the very weird ones. The ones that they were pretty certain were actually true. 

So that probably meant at one point in the future, if Jon was speaking about the Archives as if they had worked there for years. Probably during the apocalypse. Which was happening. Which Jon had...built? Like, as a personal thing, or in a metaphor for capitalism and the human race? Definitely the capitalism thing - Jon was prone to flights of filing-induced passion that sometimes accidentally resulted in a stapler flying and punching a hole through the wall, but she couldn’t even imagine him even purposefully punching someone, much less being the Antichrist. Unless it was one of those things that just happened to you, like a rare genetic defect. 

“Seriously. What was the alternative here? Endless horrorterrors, everybody screaming all the time? It was boring. You eat one Statement about somebody standing in line at a slaughterhouse conveyor belt and you’ve eaten them all. I didn’t do it because I didn’t like you, although for the record I don’t. But you have to admit that having Eldritch Lidls are much more practical than just having a bunch of people lying around screaming all the time. It’s not as if I don’t have other eyes, I hardly miss them. There’s no chocolate cakes in the swirling vortex of mankind’s worst nightmares!”

Okay. They had to find a way to engage with this guy. He was completely ignoring them, probably because he thought that they were mean ghosts. Sasha was only one of those things, and it was hurting her feelings. Judging from the expression on Tim’s face he was thinking the same thing. 

Or - wait, Sasha knew that eyebrow. That was the ‘please please please tell the apocalypse has zombies’ eyebrow. Great. 

But Martin was just looking thoughtful again. Sasha was pretty proud of him - it was probably very difficult for the poor man to remain coherent in the face of the crazy time-traveller who was definitely hotter than their already objectively unfairly hot boss. 

“Jon,” Martin said, cutting Jon’s tired rant about how eggs benedict were much better these days, “Uh, I have an idea? Maybe you can’t get out of the - nightmare by bargaining with it. Do you know how to normally escape these things?”

Jon angled his head down and frowned in Martin’s direction. So far Martin seemed to be the only person who could shut Jon up, which was a hilarious turnaround from normal life. Sasha hadn’t heard anything about Martin being a sad little ghost, but it was hard to believe that Martin was a survivor in the zombie apocalypse. 

“You go through the statement and you walk through it,” Jon said, in a very ‘duh’ kind of way. “Give the statement, highfive corpses, whatever.”

“Right, right.” Martin wrung his hands, biting at his lip. “So maybe it’s like that. Maybe instead of asking to be let out - you just have to walk through it. Like - like it’s a maze. Does that make sense? I’m not sure, it’s just an idea.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Right as always, Martin.” Everybody’s jaw dropped, and Martin squeaked. “Fine, fine. Let’s...interact with the evil ghosts.” Jon gestured out with his arms, in a very ‘come at me bro’ gesture. “Go ahead and shoot. Hit me with how much you hate me and how disappointed you are that I never amounted to anything and started the apocalypse.”

Finally! Interrogation time! 

But before Sasha could finally find out if global warming had killed the world, Tim jumped in. “Are there zombies in the apocalypse?!” Tim cried, way too excited. “Is it like the Walking Dead? Or is it more Last of Us?”

Jon squinted in Tim’s direction. “Define zombie.”

“...hunger for human flesh, shambling, gross looking?” Tim rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t seen any zombie movies.”

“I’m omniscient, I’ve seen every zombie movie,” Jon lied blatantly. “I just think that you’re - you know, stereotyping. Sometimes people are the undead and eat humans and they’re - they’re very normal people.”

“Yeah, Tim, be sensitive,” Sasha said gleefully. She put the tape recorder on Martin’s desk, deciding that she would definitely need a transcript of this interview later. Also maybe ask more questions about that omniscient thing, but she was sure Jon was just exaggerating. If you asked Jon today if he was the smartest person on Earth he’d probably say yes. Jon wasn’t even the smartest person in the room.

For good measure, she drew out her little notebook from her pencil skirt pocket, flipping through it looking for a clean page. “The Archives have never gotten a time traveller before. This is unprecedented in its history.” Well, she really didn’t know what Gertrude had gotten up to, but she dearly hoped it wasn’t this. “Do you have any warnings? Desperate messages from a ruined world, that kind of thing?”

“I’m not a time traveller,” Jon said flatly, “so no.”

Everybody stared at him in abject pity.

“Mate,” Tim said sympathetically, “it’s 2015. You’re a time traveller.”

“No, I’m in a pocket hell dimension in a period beyond time and space,” Jon corrected arrogantly. “Time travel doesn’t exist.”

“The apocalypse exists but time travel doesn’t exist?” Martin cried. “That’s so unfair! Like, give us something, you know?”

“Your life is very hard,” the extratemporal reject said. 

Typical Jon. A classic case of time travel and here he was denying it. Sasha crossed her arms, upset that they were wasting time debating temporal physics when they could be talking about zombies. She was a historian and had priorities. “Your denial ain’t cute, mate. You’re just wasting all of our time.” Jon opened his mouth, but Sasha steamrolled over him. “You want evidence, right? Do you need to, like, touch my face? Make sure that I’m not a sexy ghost?”

“That’s a stereotype that nobody actually does,” Jon said. 

“Insensitive as always, Sasha,” Martin condemned. 

“How else are we going to prove it to him?” Sasha said, somewhat defensively. “It’s not as if we have any evidence that we’re not sexy ghosts.”

With utmost care and incredible gentleness, Tim reached out an open hand and gently smooshed it into Jon’s face.

Jon slumped in his seat, arms folded, unimpressed. 

“No mortal who is not my darling husband has dared to touch me since I became the Antichrist,” Jon said.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, withdrawing his hand and looking at Sasha. “What’s more unbelievable: Jon as the Antichrist or Jon with a husband?”

“Jon’s gay?” Martin cried, face beet red. “Gay Jon? Gay Jon real?”

“So, like, how do you get the Antichrist gig?” Sasha asked as she silently passed Tim a fiver. Her queerdar had never been so wrong. “Is it like an adventurer quest you can do or would you call it more of a rare genetic disorder thing?”

“Definitely rare genetic disorder.”

“Then does that mean that our Jon also has the Antichrist gene?” Tim asked, alarmed. “You’d never think so just looking at him! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“No, this makes sense,” Martin said.

Tim stared at him. “So, is that, like, a negative for you, or a positive…?”

Martin’s silence was incriminating. 

“It’s a positive,” Jon said helpfully, startling everyone. They had conveniently forgotten not to talk about one very horny man’s very horny crush in front of sad grumpy time travelling crush. “He’s into it.”

“Wow, Jon,” Tim said, “what would your husband say?”

In a completely pointless show of sass, Jon rolled his eyes. “My useless husband is likely much more concerned with how I managed to get trapped in a nightmare dimension on my way back from the Hell corner store.” He waved a hand absently. “So, if we can hurry this up? Get started on the whole torturing me thing? Right now you’re just on track to annoying me to death.”

“We annoy you to death now!” Tim exclaimed, as Martin’s eyes boggled. “Isn’t that more proof for the time traveller theory?”

“It wasn’t annoying,” Jon said curtly. “I secretly enjoyed it. I always felt a little bad that I wasn’t included. Or wouldn’t let myself be included.”

That, abruptly, made everyone feel a little bad. Not guilty, seeing as Jon neither wanted nor deserved their affection, but just kind of bad. Future Jon didn’t seem any happier than regular Jon. Sasha liked to imagine that if she was trapped in an indeterminate period in time and space in a post-apoc hellscape, she’d at least be having fun.

Everybody looked at each other, equally a little uncomfortable. Tim was the one who finally took control of the situation, as the self-appointed Jon & Everyone Else mediator. He had taken up the mantle years ago and worse it with pride, and occasional exhaustion. 

“Look,” Tim said, as reasonably as possible. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, this was super cool and awesome time travel. Let’s also say maybe this was completely baller and you’re from a post apoc future where everyone wears leather.”

“That’s just Melanie.”

“Put it down as one person who wears leather in the future!” Tim cried, and Sasha obediently jotted it down.”But let’s just put all of this in a hypothetical situation where you aren’t...uh, in a bad dream? So would there, hypothetically, be a way to stop the apocalypse or something?”

Jesus christ. What a try-hard. 

Sasha crossed her arms, glaring at Tim. From next to her, Martin looked just as peeved. “Seriously, dude? Like we can just up and stop capitalism?”

“I don’t want responsibility for stopping the apocalypse,” Martin protested. “I can barely navigate the bus system. What if the Terminator comes after my mother or something?”

“You’ll be a bit better off, frankly,” Jon said. Martin nodded, conceding the point, before looking faintly disturbed. 

“But he said that he caused it,” Tim protested. “Maybe the power of friendship can fix this? I mean, the apocalypse is cool, but I feel like this is the part where we’re all badasses and we fight evil or something.” Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s what the Magnus Institute is for. To stop the apocalypse!”

“Every day I feel a slight sense of emptiness due to my internalized guilt about your death, but you are usually wrong about things,” Jon said flatly, which seemed to both perk Tim up and depress him slightly. “And no. There’s nothing you can do. There’s no one event that precipitated the apocalypse; no rules of engagement. You are puppets on strings, indulging in the fantasy of free will. Yes, Sasha, the apocalypse is capitalism.”

Everybody stood in slightly depressed silence over this. Sasha, personally, was a little relieved. She really didn’t have to deal with the whole ‘preventing the apocalypse’ thing. She’d rather spend the finals days of the world in hedonism, frankly. 

Really, the unique providence of the millennial was to live your entire life half-way convinced you were in the twilight years of the world. This hedonism and apathy was second nature. Or maybe the apathy was a Leitner - Sasha had lost track of that too. 

“Aw, man,” Martin said, summarizing the abstract and complex feelings deftly and succinctly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, this blows,” Tim agreed. “So should I buy my muscle car now, or later, or what?”

Then Martin and Tim started arguing over fuel efficiency in the apocalypse, and Jon royally checked out of the conversation. Sasha imagined that he was internally having a bit of a Saving Private Ryan moment where flashbacks of bombshells exploded behind his eyelids or whatever the fuck. The important thing is that everyone was distracted, and Sasha could finally check up on their most important gambit of the day: making sure Jon wasn’t bothering them. 

Sasha listened carefully for the sounds of Jon’s little theater monologues, and caught only faint hints of sound. She slipped past everyone into the hallway and approached Jon’s office door, pressing her ear against the cheap wood. But she didn’t need to worry: he was still reciting away, oblivious to the actual interesting shit that was happening outside his door. Jon was a delicate plant, you couldn’t stress him out too much or he would die. Hopefully Martin’s drugged tea would kick in soon -

But Antichrist Jon’s head jerked towards her, directly behind him, and Sasha saw his unfocused green eyes fixate directly on her. No, not on her - on the door, or something beyond it. For just a second, his eyes flared a sharp and toxic green. 

“There you are,” Creepy Jon hissed. 

Well, sorry for leaving rooms without telling him, but she hadn’t thought that he even noticed, much less got resentful about it. But Weird Jon was standing up with no hesitation, and effortlessly swerved around Martin’s desk and stalked into the hallway. For the first time, his expression looked a little dangerous. It was bizarre and off putting, like seeing a ragged yet murderous two meter kitten. 

He reached out an arm and let it trail across the wall, stopping short when he felt it hit wood instead of plaster. Tim and Martin surged forward to stop him, yelling warnings, but Sasha quickly stepped back. She never impeded the timeless march of science and progress. Sasha had done far worse in Artifact Storage for knowledge. 

Jon brushed his hand down the door until it hit the doorknob and angrily twisted it, heaving the door open with unnecessary force. Tim and Martin spilled into the hallway as Angry Jon stalked inside, and Sasha eagerly hung in the door frame for a front row seat into the drama. 

“This is your fault,” Jon intoned dangerously, directly in the face of a deathly affronted Jon. 

In the spirit of the First Directive, Sasha heroically stretched out an arm and prevented Tim and Martin from spilling into the office. It was the right call. Jon stalked forward into the office, hair whipping in a nonexistent wind, expression obscured but undoubtedly thunderous, advancing on the terrified Archivist, as -

He tripped over a chair left carelessly in the center of the office, rocketing forward to land flatly on his face. 

Beside her, Martin went white as a sheet. “Oh no.”

Simultaneously, in complete and total unison, Jon and the Archivist yelled, “Martin!”

****

Jon and the Archivist sat across from each other, exuding waves of pure mutual hatred.

Tim had quickly helped the Archivist up, moving the chair forward and getting him situated there. The Archivist’s mood was not improved by any of this. Which was difficult enough to handle by itself, if manageable. Sasha knew how to manage grumpy time travelling blind Antichrists who had gotten lost on their way to the corner store.

She even knew how to handle their boss, who was extremely grumpy about being harassed by a random homeless person with nice hair. Jon hated statement givers at the best of times, much less seemingly homeless ex-corpses. Or, well, Sasha didn’t know if he was an ex-corpse, but he was certainly an animate one. 

They were both being so annoying about it Sasha was trying to determine if she should change their nicknames to something more derogatory. Thing 1 and Thing 2? Too long. 

Both of them were very grumpy about the fact that Martin had pushed aside the chair for guests in front of Jon’s desks when he deposited the drugged tea, accidentally moving it close to the center of the office. Jon had known this because he saw it happen. The Archivist had known this because he, apparently, knew Martin very well. 

Today had really been a bonding experience with Sasha, Martin, and Tim. Their skill at silent communication had reached borderline telepathy. They all looked at each other significantly as the Jons were caught in their mutual dyad of hatred, silently commiserating over the fact that their one goal had been spoiled by the greatest wildcard of all. Sasha privately liked to consider herself somewhat of a wildcard, but she was depressingly aware that the entire Archive team was composed of wildcards. Maybe that’s why half of them didn’t survive the apocalypse. 

It was a little unlikely that Jon was a survivor/instigator in the zombie apocalypse, actually. Dude definitely would have bit it if he wasn’t cheating with Antichrist powers. Now, if Sasha had Antichrist powers, this whole game would be looking very different -

“Boss, this is a statement giver,” Tim hinted desperately, hands clenched so hard on the back of the Archivist’s chair that his knuckles were turning white. “Remember what Elias said about statement givers? About how we can’t harass them?”

“I was in the middle of a recording and this man was unnecessarily confrontational,” Jon said crisply. Sasha caught her eye jumping frantically back and forth between the two, trying to reconcile them. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Martin’s horny surety, she wouldn’t have realized that they were the same person at all. The Archivist’s most defining attribute was his big and fluffy hair, and Jon was sadly lacking in the nice hair department. That fade and twists were the shackle around his ankle. So was the sweater vest, baggy tweed jacket, and ill-fitting.“He’s lucky I’m not throwing him out.”

Martin, who looked as if he was having his tenth gay crisis of the morning, didn’t seem to hold the same opinion, but he was king of bad taste anyway. 

“Remember what Elias said about harassing confused, blind statement givers? Remember that? Boss?”

Jon looked confused. “He didn’t specify the community of people with disabilities.”

“It was implied? Jon?”

“The optics would be terrible,” Sasha said, before snickering. Martin stomped on her foot. She stomped on his back, which definitely hurt a lot more. “Look, Jon, sorry about all of this. He was just - uh - really insistent that he talk to you -”

“I think if our visitor hassles Jon then maybe, objectively, you can say that Jon brought it on himself,” Martin said, in a daring show of anti-Jon sentiment.

This act of subtle rebellion was the first thing that broke the Archivist out of his cycle of hatred. He threw out a hand, bowling over Jon’s desktop cup of pens and sending them tumbling over the desk. Sasha saw him specifically orient his hand to do so. “Thank you, Martin! Your understanding of paraphysics is always immaculate.”

“Wow, really?”

“Stop complimenting my assistants,” Jon hissed, frantically diving to save his pens. “And stop - gesticulating over my desk! You did that on purpose!”

“Harassing the blind, Jon!”

“You don’t even need to tearfully blame me for how I ruined your life,” the Archivist said flatly. “You existing in my vicinity is torment enough.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Sasha said, before pausing a beat. “I meant the first part, ha ha ha, obviously -”

“This man is a very normal statement giver who will be leaving any minute now,” Martin jumped in, “so there’s really no reason for us all to fight, when you think about it -”

“If you all don’t get out of my office, you are all fired -”

“You are listening.”

Everybody stopped talking at once, staring at the Archivist. He was still staring intently ahead, straight into his counterpart. Jon was hiding it, quite badly, but he was unsettled. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he and the man looked alike - the thought undoubtedly running through his brain and soundly dismissed - but it was clearly rattling him. But there was something else that was scaring him too - maybe the Archivist’s green eyes, so foreign from his own brown? His intense and furious expression, like cut glass? The particularly strange and heavy feeling in the air, prickling down the back of Sasha’s neck?

He hadn’t even stopped the recorder. 

“You are here,” the Archivist continued calmly. “You were listening in. Why you were listening in on him, and his regurgitated aftertaste of Statements, I do not know. I felt you, and I came to you. We cannot forsake each other. Do not hide yourself from me.”

The effect was immediate. 

The Archivist’s neck snapped forward, so harshly he cracked his head on Jon’s desk. Strangely enough, Jon screamed too, holding a hand to his temple as if he was suddenly pierced by a blinding headache. Tim immediately bent down to check on Archivist, making sure that he hadn’t hurt himself, as Martin bustled around the desk to check on Jon. Jon batted his hands away, scowling, so he was just fine. But the Archivist didn’t groan, or stir, or moan. He just lay there, still and limp, and when Tim shook him he didn’t even tense. 

The air was heavy, a tang of metal in her mouth like the crackle before a storm, and Sasha couldn’t fight a shiver. But she couldn’t take her eyes off Jon, either: the way he stared at the Archivist, hand on his forehead, eyes wide and growing wider. 

“Dad…?”

When the Archivist stirred, the spell was broken, and Jon’s mouth snapped shut so quickly it was as if he had never spoken at all. He turned his head and moaned, eyes opening uselessly. They were back to their usual toxic green, no flaring or flashing. 

“Mar’in? Where…”

“I’m here,” Martin said quickly, and ducked around the desk to grab the Archivist’s hand and squeeze. For just a second, Jon looked a little jealous. Sasha had the sense that Jon had never been mothered than anyone other than Martin and Tim, and the prospect confused and frightened him so much he reacted aggressively to it. “Everything alright? You hit your head.”

“How many eyes?” the Archivist asked weakly. 

“...physically, or functionally?”

But the Archivist just ran his burned hand over his smooth hand, kneading it and feeling the skin. “Still gone. Damn it.” He straightened, grimacing and spitting out a stray tendril of hair out of his mouth. “So it’s true…”

“So what’s true?” Tim asked urgently. “Do you finally believe us about the time travel thing? Because man, I have so many questions -”

He didn’t get the opportunity to say anything. The Archivist reached out a hand, fingers brushing against his shirt, and the Archivist’s hand abruptly clenched on the fabric. Tightly, roughly, the Archivist pulled him down and extended his other arm, and caught Tim in an awkward and lopsided hug. 

Tim carefully straightened him and returned the hug, gracing the Archivist with the patented Perfect Stoker Hug, and the Archivist buried his face in Tim’s shoulder. His chest didn’t heave, and his breath didn’t catch, but the element of desperation was pungent and unmistakable. 

“You were right,” Jon whispered. “We messed it all up.”

“Sure, yeah, totally!” Tim said, clapping the Archivist on the back in a masculine, yet sensitive way. “So, does this mean the zombie apocalypse is totally a-go, or…”

“Sasha,” the Archivist said, and Sasha chose to ignore her own personal distaste for hugs and being touched so she could step forward and hug him too. 

He clutched onto her just as tightly as he had Tim, which surprised her a little. Jon and Tim had probably been best friends in the future, and Sasha couldn’t imagine her and Jon ever truly being close. He respected her as a colleague, but that was probably because Sasha purposefully left her manuscripts around the office and aggressively used as many big words in front of him as possible. Jon had always been an obstacle to her - innocently stupid at best, malicious at worst. To think that he would grip her so tightly…

With meticulous care, the Archivist separated from her. His expression was crumpled, and for the first time Sasha saw something over than aggravation or impatience in Jon’s face. Relaxed and soft, he looked like a different man. No - he was a different man, it was just apparent. The change softened his sharp lines into something a little friendlier; his striking exterior melting into something pretty instead of imposing. 

Slowly, he raised his hand a little to tangle it in her hair. He frowned a little, gently tugging at it and feeling it spring back into place. “So it was curly…like mine…”

A lot of little hints snowballed into one strange and foreign realization. “Do you not remember me?”

“Dolls stole your identity,” the Archivist said apologetically. 

“Like credit card fraud, or -”

“Metaphysically.” He paused guiltily. “I mourned you as an abstract concept?”

“Like I’m every woman in Hollywood?” Sasha screeched, outraged. This was not trans rights. “Alright, royally fuck that. Feel my hair, mister. Full permission to touch it. Feel that? You call that abstract?” The Archivist shook his head, eyes wide, and Sasha gently moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. “Taller than you in eight cm heels, remember? You asked me how I walked in them, and I said -”

“ - Barbie’s Princess Charm School,” the Archivist said automatically, eyes widening. “I do remember.”

Martin clearly waited around to be tenderly embraced, and was disappointed. 

The Archivist stepped away from Sasha, expression creased in furious thought. “So it’s real. So far as anything’s real, I suppose. But I don’t understand how -” the Archivist’s eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers in realization. “The manhole!”

Everybody stared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon said pleasantly, “what is going on -”

“I was walking down the street, and I remember hearing city work!” the Archivist said brightly. “They were doing their monthly ‘clearing the gators out of the sewer pipes’ maintenance! And the Beholding told me that there was an open manhole, and I said oh it’ll be fine, I’m a demigod on Earth, I don’t fall down manholes - and then -”

The door to Jon’s office dramatically crashed open, and everybody jumped straight in the air. Jon, whose office had seen two more incredibly theatrical entrances than usual today, immediately bristled and opened his mouth to earn them all another harassment complaint, before he abruptly shut his mouth. 

It was Elias, their miniature and unspeakably boring boss extraordinaire. He stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorframe, suit jacket askew and chest heaving. Had he ran down here?

“Is someone here?” the Archivist asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said, stepping forward cautiously. “It’s our boss, Mr. Bouchard. Elias, we’re taking a statement, can we help - ?”

“How did that get here?” Elias asked, voice strangely tense and coiled. “How did you - not even I could -”

“That makes sense!” Martin cried, thumping a fist on his open palm. “Elias wants to time travel just as much as everyone else in the Institute!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, pathetically behind, “time travel -”

“Did the time traveller sensor alarms in the basement go off?” Sasha asked, surprised. “I thought only Artifact Storage had those.”

“Uh, Mr. Statement Giver, are you okay?” Tim asked, but it was already too late.

The Archivist had turned to face Elias, expression unreadable. Sasha felt that crackle again, weighing down the air, and she saw the Archivist’s hair puff and frizz slightly with a green crackle. His neon green pupils shone again and spun, like an infernal wheel. 

“What’s wrong, Elias?” the Archivist mocked, as energy coursed through him. “Upset that Mama has a new favorite?”

And Sasha saw in that moment that the Archivist, who possessed the most inhuman green eyes she had ever seen, had eyes the same shade as Elias. 

“Oh, man,” Sasha said, “is Elias a time traveller too?”

“Only in the most mundane way. Can’t even get a little bit of special attention, Elias? Sad!” It was second-hand thrilling to watch someone mock their boss, living the dreams of everyone in the room. Even if it was a little weird how much Jon seemed to hate this guy - nobody hated Elias, just like nobody liked him, and nobody had any strong feelings at all besides unpromoted women.

 At the door, Elias’ expression was slack in - amazement? Was amazement the right word? He was staring at Jon as if...words didn’t even describe it. At least in any way that Sasha wanted to think about. 

“Mr. Bouchard, I swear I can explain,” Sasha, who could not explain, said hurriedly. “We found this corpse and we were going to tell you, but -”

But the Archivist cut her off, as if nothing was less important than explaining himself to Elias. “Did you want to know how to stop the apocalypse, Sasha?”

Sasha froze. Martin and Tim did too. Jon, who nobody had actually bothered to brief since he was kind of the fifth most important person in the room, dropped his pen. “Uh,” Sasha said, sweating. For the first time she understood the possible upsides of not knowing something. “I mean, if I have to, but you said that it was inevitable -”

“Oh, yes. But, just once every one or two centuries, a man comes along who fancies himself fate.” The Archivist raised a hand, eyes spinning and spinning, as Elias stood frozen in the doorframe. “I’ll be honest, Jonah. This isn’t to save the world. That’s so last year. I just really fucking hate you.” Something cracked in the air. “Ceaseless watcher, smite this -”

The door slammed shut. Sasha heard Elias lock it behind him. They all stood around as footsteps quickly echoed through the Archives, and another door slammed. Which was probably being locked too. 

They stood in silence, the Archivist having clearly heard the slams. He let his hand fall, but the energy didn’t cease crackling around him. He didn’t look resentful or disappointed - just thoughtful. 

“Everything in due time, I suppose. I guess it is pretty unfair to get to smite that man twice,” the Archivist said thoughtfully. “I’ll give someone else a turn.” His mouth twitched wryly. “You know, Sasha, there’s one other way to prevent the apocalypse.”

“Is it work?” Sasha asked tiredly. 

“You may kill the man who arranged the dominos,” the Archivist intoned, before hanging his head towards a petrified Jon. “Or you may kill the man who toppled them over.”

Sasha stared at Jon. Jon stared back, frozen like a deer in headlights.

Martin silently passed Sasha a penknife from Jon’s desk. 

“I’m very qualified for this job,” Jon protested weakly.

“Queen of feminism, I very much support you,” Tim said quickly, putting himself in between Sasha and Jon in a heroic display of stupidity, “but, maybe, killing your boss to take his job, is perhaps, maybe not that much of a great idea, just a thought?”

“The job’s being the Antichrist,” the Archivist pointed out, crossing his arms. 

“The direct action against sexism, xenophobia, and transphobia is very admirable,” Tim said, eyes held up as if he was placating a tiger, “but think of it this way - if you kill the Antichrist, then you become the Antichrist, like in - uh -”

“Pokemon,” Martin volunteered. 

Tim snapped his fingers. “Pokemon! So you shouldn’t -” He halted, turning back to Martin. “Pokemon? Seriously? That’s becoming champion -”

“A - alright, alright! Everybody stop!” Jon shakily stood up, brushing aside the empty tea mug right next to him. “That’s enough of all of this! I may not know what’s going on, or who this man is, or why he looks like me -”

“Hm,” Martin said, eyeing the empty tea mug. 

“ - why he looks like a homeless person, why he barged into my office and insulted me, why you are all defending this atrocious behavior, why you are calling it the work of time travel, which does not exist and you have no proof for it anyway -”

“Jon,” Martin said, watching Jon’s arm tremble, “maybe you should -”

“Shut up, Martin!”

“Don’t be rude to him!” the Archivist snapped. 

“You’ve been rude to him twice today!”

“I’m allowed to be rude to him! He’s even ruder to me! I’m the nice one!”

“ - and you were glowing in my office, which is just frankly rude,” Jon continued viciously, steamrolling over the Archivist. “You gave me a terrible headache, you hugged my assistants very inappropriately for the workplace, you made my boss walk in before trying to smite him, you encourage violence against my own person in revenge for a job that I definitely deserve -”

Both of Jon’s arms were shaking, and Tim’s eyebrows were slowly raising. “Boss, you should sit down, I think -”

“ - I want an explanation!” Jon yelled, slamming the desk. “And I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on!”

Then Jon passed out. 

Everybody watched it happen. Everybody, save perhaps the Archivist, had noticed that it was about to happen: at first a tremor, then a shake, and then a final collapse. Like a marionette with his strings cut, Jon slumped over and crumpled solidly on the floor. 

Everybody stood in disaffected silence. Martin carefully stepped over and prodded Jon with his foot. “Out cold.” He shot a considering gaze at the empty tea mug. “Sorry, guys. Looks like I accidentally used the delayed action sedative.”

"It’s alright,” Tim said magnanimously. “At least that problem is solved now. Maybe we can convince him this was a bad dream when he wakes up.”

“If he insists it was real, we’ll just ask him for evidence and refuse to believe him without it,” Sasha suggested. 

“Isn’t that kinda gaslighting?” Martin asked. “Isn’t that, you know, a little morally dubious -”

“You did drug him,” Tim pointed out.

“I mean, hardly the first time?”

“Maybe Martin should be the Antichrist,” Sasha said thoughtfully.

The Archivist’s face was doing something extremely interesting, yet inscrutable.

“I really don’t want to be Antichrist, though,” Martin said apologetically. “Does it even pay?”

“Jon did say it was a job…” Sasha said, already considering herself in the role. “Do you guys think I’d be sexier as the Antichrist? Be honest.”

“Yes and completely,” Tim said immediately, before realizing that he said that too quickly. “I mean. I’d never objectify you. I respect women. But -”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Martin said, throwing up his hands. “When you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot it’s normal and M/F of you. But when I do it, then it’s ‘gross’ and ‘get that away from me’. Great double standards, guys.”

“It’s not the fact that it’s a guy,” Tim protested, “it’s the fact that it’s Jon -”

“Oh, when you think being the Antichrist is kind of hot then it’s normal and cis of you,” Sasha said heatedly, “but when Tim respects trans women, then it’s ‘gross’ and -”

“I respect all women,” Tim said, equally heatedly, “but I do want to acknowledge the systematic marginalization of trans women within the community, especially trans women of color like yourself -”

A hoarse wheeze echoed through the office.

Everyone froze, terrified by the haunted sound, but after a second Sasha realized it was the Archivist - Jon - who was laughing. 

They had never heard him laugh before. He was practically wheezing with it, bent over with his hands on his knees, with a strained cackle that fizzed with static around the corners. He was smiling broadly, his grin splitting his cheeks, for the first time that Sasha had ever seen. 

He straightened and threw his head back and laughed too, a greater belly-laugh that was so hysterical and fragile and free that it struck something strange and raw in Sasha’s heart. He rubbed his face with his hand, still laughing, and eventually broke into coughs. 

“I understand now,” Jon said, when he stopped coughing. “I thought that you had deposited me here in revenge. You had sensed that I was happy - that the green skies were beautiful, that your large eye seemed kind that day - and that you found it a waste of emotion. But that wasn’t true, was it? It must have been an accident. I’ve never been happier to hear these idiots arguing, and you’ve lost me like a toy behind a bookshelf. The strange stupidity of it! I’m enchanted.” He sombered a little, expression falling from hysterical glee into a soft and resigned happiness. He held up his hand, feeling the crackle of electricity run across his palms. “But you See me now. The foolish man brought you down upon us, and I intercepted your lightning bolt. His eyes, mundane and paltry, are closed, and you feel my consciousness in replacement of him. I can feel you already - my Eyes opening, the Reality that we built together calling me back. When your infinite grace re-aligns with every one of my atoms, forming the fabric of my world, I’ll snap back.”

Just like that?

Sasha had thought that there would be an...adventure, or quest, or something. At least a research binge. Some kind of heroic group effort. But the Archivist was a stretched rubber band, held tightly and out of position, and after long enough straining against its center it had to snap back. A telly flickering in and out, blaring the song of a dead channel. 

“Do we have time to group hug or something?” Tim offered weakly, undoubtedly thinking the same thing as she was. “Last goodbyes? Anything?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle moment?” Martin asked urgently. “I’ll find you in the future, right? We’re still together there, right?”

“Martin,” Jon said, strangely fond, “we were never apart.”

Martin turned a unique shade of red. 

But it was Sasha who Jon turned to, face angled to the sound of her voice. His expression was still distantly fond, but there was something strange in it too - a wry recognition, a subtle knowledge, a faint recollection of a joke that only he knew. 

“Sasha,” Jon said, “so long as you’re brave, and buy ten fire extinguishers and hide them around the office, things will be just fine. Buy twelve fire extinguishers, just to be safe. And don’t ever go inside Artifact Storage again. Not even for Alicia’s birthday party. If it’s a choice between worms and Artifact Storage then choose worms, the scars add a certain appeal. I cannot stress enough, not even if you lose your jacket in Artifact Storage -”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything to say to me?” Martin asked desperately, almost crying. Sasha, personally, wanted to circle back around to the worm thing. “Sad goodbyes? Waving a handkerchief? I thought you said I was alive? Don’t you have anything?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Goodness, Martin, if you insist. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. In fact, I do believe it’s about time.” 

Martin’s mind clearly projected very loudly ‘I’ve been in love with you this entire time’ in blatant wish-fulfillment. Everybody held their breaths. 

Jon drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and sternly looked at all of them. “I’m tired of holding my tongue about this, Martin,” Jon said finally, and Martin qualified. “For the last time, I don’t load the dishwasher wrong. I load the dishwasher correctly. It’s you who’s always insisting that the cups go on the bottom. It’s a freakish way to live your life, and I’ll never forgive you for -”

Static blared in Sasha’s ears and overwrote her mind, and she screamed. The sensation was a pickaxe driven into her ears, an unforgivable rip and tear, and she heard her screams echoed in concert. 

Then the pain abated, and was gone. 

Sasha, Tim, and Martin were left standing in an empty office, accompanied only by the unconscious figure of their boss. There was nothing left of the Archivist, nor any suggestion that he had ever been here - just a drained mug, some scattered pens, and a lingering sense of malaise and confusion. 

Everybody looked at each other, feeling strangely and uniquely connected. It was hardly Sasha’s strangest Magnus Institute experience, but maybe it was the funnest. 

“Well,” Tim said finally, “at least one day this week wasn’t boring.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even have to get drunk today.” Sasha sighed. “We definitely have to gaslight Jon about this.”

Martin was already carefully lugging Jon onto his chair, arranging him so his arms were folded on the desk with his cheek resting on his forearm. “We’ll pretend it was just a weird dream.” He propped his hands on his hips, satisfied. “Hopefully this convinces him he needs more sleep.” Martin gasped in sudden realization. “Maybe he becomes the Antichrist because he needs more sleep! Guys, I have a great twenty step plan for saving the world.”

“Oh, come on, we said that was too much work.” Tim shrugged and opened the office door, holding it open and gesturing for them all to come out. “I think if we just friendship Jon to death, all of our problems will be solved.”

Martin just shrugged, following him out. They really did have paperwork that they needed to get back to. “Both are vital components. But...hey, it’s not weird to put the mugs on the bottom rack, is it? There’s not really that much of a difference, right?”

“Mate, you’re a fucking freak.” Tim looked backwards at Sasha, who was still standing in the office, dazed. “Sash, you coming? Let’s go day-drinking.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, “in a sec.”

He shrugged and left the door propped open, and Sasha heard their bickering fade slowly as they walked down the hallway. 

But she couldn’t help staring at Jon sleeping at his desk, chest falling in and out, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. His short, carefully maintained hair and meticulous fade. His baggy tweed and ill-fitting slacks. The subtle and shameful kind of earnestness, the desire mixed with fear mixed with hope mixed with genuine desire for a better future. He just wanted to be happy, to not be afraid anymore. He seemed weirdly human, when compared with his inhuman self. Or maybe it was the other way around. 

The tape recorder on Jon’s desk was still running. Sasha squinted at it, taking a second to listen to the staticy hiss. It was familiar, in the strangest possible way. It felt familiar -

Sasha reached out and grabbed the tape recorder, stuffing it in her pencil skirt pocket. “Just remember,” Sasha whispered, “I’d make a great candidate for Antichrist.”

She ran to go catch up with her coworkers, shutting the door behind them and leaving Jon sleeping contentedly in his office, head pillowed on his arms, dreaming strange and comforting dreams.

[pearl-blue-musings]

Hiii how are you 💖 I'm so excited your requests are open you're an amazing writer 💖 Can I please request a medium well steak (Katsuki Bakugou) with a side of mashed potatoes and peas please 👉👈💖

Babe staaahhp but I gotchu

College AU and also quirkless AU i have no self control

I ended up, as per usual, getting carried away with this hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: 18+, smut, some tooth rotting fluff, oral fem receiving, penetration, some dirty talk, pretty soft bakubabe

Enjoy your meal~

~~~~~~~~~~~

When you had started at U.A. university, you weren’t thinking of whirlwind romances or anything cliché like that. You wanted to graduate, hopefully in four years, debate about getting a masters’ degree, and then make a living doing what you love. Of course you had time for friends, going to different sporting events and clubs.

But nothing prepared you for meeting Bakugou Katsuki.

It was at a party, where else? You had finished your midterms and one of your apartment roommates wanted to go out and celebrate. Your roommate, Mina Ashido, knew of a smaller party at one of her friends places downtown. You needed the relaxation badly and just wanted to let it all out. Midterms had been extra tough this time around, but this was your second year of college so having some surprises weren’t unwarranted.

Dressed in your favorite outfit, you and Mina headed out, leaving your other roommate at home to sleep instead of party. The ride there had been filled with fun conversation about Mina’s group of friends and how chaotic they are.

“Our personalities don’t always mesh one on one, but together well we’re still crazy but we work!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, as the music pumped you up for what was to come. Once your ride dropped you off, Mina leads you to the aforementioned apartment. When the two of you walk up to the door and open it, you’re greeted by a tall and lanky man.

“Mina you made it! Just in time, I was about to rip into some of my stash. Light up?”

Mina nods eagerly and then gestures between the two of you. “Sero! This is (Y/n). The roommate and bestie I’ve been talking about?”

The three of you walk further into the apartment so you can remove your jackets in a safe room. The guy, Sero you learn, looks to you and sticks out his hand, taking it. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” His attention turns back to the pink haired young lady, “Mi amor, ready to go?”

You notice Mina’s cheeks redden at the affectionate term and nods. You give her a questioning but sly look as you watch them head to the back of the apartment hand in hand. You find it absolutely adorable. Mina had been gushing on and on about how much she liked this one guy in her friend group. You muse to yourself that you’d be going home alone, and you were content with that.

Making your way into the kitchen, you notice a keg and a large bin filled with Jungle Juice. You can smell the alcohol from where you stand, enticing you even more. You walk up and grab yourself a cup and talk to the faux bartender. “A cup of your finest jungle juice please.”

The blond behind the tub smirks at you and fills your cup. “I’ve never seen you here,” he comments, a little louder because of the music. “Are you Mina’s friend?”

You chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “I guess word about me travels fast. Yeah, I’m (Y/n).”

“The name’s Denki Kaminari. Let me guess, smoking with Sero?”

The two of you share a laugh at the mutual understanding. He further explains that those two have been pining for each other ever since they met and it was getting sickening. You ended up spending more time with the cute blond, bonding over funny stories of your shared instruments over a few cups of jungle juice.

Forty-five minutes later and the two of you make your way to a couch, where others were sitting if they weren’t dancing. Your mind and head were in a state of euphoria. You were relaxed, the alcohol in your system taking you to another level of satisfaction. You liked chatting with Denki, he was very witty and funny. Suddenly, nature called.

“Hey, you don’t mind if I go to the bathroom do you? I didn’t think I’d had that much,” Denki slurred/spoke. You nod rather heavily and watch him go. You stare at the contents of your half full cup and wonder if you should pour it out or finish it. As you’re about to stand, some super drunk couple dancing bumped into you and ceremoniously spilling your drink on you and the person next to you. You scoff and whine, a mutter of curses leaving your lips as your outfit is now ruined. You’re about to stand again when you hear to your left,

“Hey you extras! Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

How long had this guy been there? Probably the whole time considering you were immersed in conversation. You finally get a good look at him and see that some of your drink had spilled on him too.

Shit

“Oh my god,” you breathe, “I’m so sorry! They bumped into me and…”

“Oi, shut up,” your stranger scolds. “Come with me, I’ll get you cleaned up and a new cup.”

Shrugging, you walk with him and notice he bumps into the offending couple. He hears them yell back but he just smirks and walks on. You realize you’re walking in the direction where Mina and Sero went a couple hours ago. You put two and two together and realize you messed up the shirt of someone who lives here. If it had been some random person, yeah whatever, but he lived here, with your best friends lover.

You start to panic.

“Oh god, you live here? Now I feel worse.”

The man turns around to face you and rolls his eyes. “Please, I’ve had worse fall on me and my floor. You were talking to Denki, right? Fuckin’ idiot.”

You can’t help but smile at that, feeling some of the uneasiness melt away. You’re then tugged into this room and notice how nice it smells. It’s kept up awfully nice for some college boys, but that’s a comment you keep to yourself. You see him take off his stained shirt and you almost fall over, tripping over nothing.

“Jesus!” You screech, “you should warn someone before you decide to Magic Mike them.” You stay turned around and keep your attention to the door. Yes the door, the wonderful door that has nothing on it but the wood paneling, it’s quite nice-  

“You can turn around now, dumbass.”

You take a deep breath and slowly turn around. He’s in a dry shirt that’s black with what looks like a skull on it. In his hand is a hoodie and a pair of shorts looking insanely comfy. “Here, put this on. I’ll, uh, turn around so you can change.”

You nod hesitantly and wait for him to be completely turned around before you undress. Your body feels cold from where the cool drink had spilled onto you. Once your clothes are off you put on the clothes your nice stranger have given you. You don’t mean to, but you inhale the scent of his hoodie which surprisingly smells of sweet caramel and his cologne. That was almost enough to sober you up.

“I’m done, so you can turn around.” You hadn’t noticed how tired you sounded until you spoke. Your stranger turns around and promptly blushes lightly. You do your best to hide your smile, but it pokes out.

“Bakugou.”

“What?”

“My name, stupid. It’s Bakugou.” It’s quiet as he does his best to avoid staring at you for too long.

“(Y/n).”

He had driven you back to your apartment that night, letting you know that he’d text you once your clothes were clean, exchanging numbers at your doorstep. You had insisted it wasn’t a problem for you to do it, but he stubbornly put his foot down. If you weren’t so exhausted, you would have snapped back at him but refrained. It was cute, really. No guy had ever wanted to fix your clothes after someone else spilled something on it. But since it happened in his place right next to him, he couldn’t help himself.

The two of you continued to keep in touch after that. Eventually you became a regular member of their squad. Denki and Sero were happy to have you around the apartment, and Mina moreso. It all came so easily, your friendship with him, your friendship with the group; it was amazing that you went through most of college without them. You couldn’t imagine it all changing.

Until obviously it did.

Your new squad was chilling at you and Mina’s new place for your third year, getting buzzed off of either marijuana or alcohol. Your couch was the place to sit with Denki on one side and Bakugou on the other. Mina and Sero were snuggled into each other on a shared bean bag, passing a joint between the two of them. Kirishima sat on the ground by your feet, his head resting in between yours and Bakugou’s legs. The lofi music filling the room with the perfect ambiance; it was an ideal night. Kirishima rested his head against your thigh and felt your phone buzz.

“You gonna get that? It’s making your leg uncomfortable,” he breathes.

Bakugou flicks his friends shoulder, “Idiot, you can just move off of her leg,” hissing at the red head. You wave him off and get your phone out of your pocket. The caller I.D. makes you frown and you consider letting it go to voicemail, knowing full well he’ll just keep calling until he gets his answer.

Vermillion eyes peak over your shoulder and catch who it is that’s calling you. Turns out to be your scumbag of an ex, knowing that this isn’t the first time he’s tried calling you. Bakugou sees you start to shrink in on yourself as the phone keeps buzzing. “Give it here, dumbass.”

“Bakugou, it’s fine. I’ll just see what he has to say…”

“Fuck that,” his voice booming over the music as he snatches your phone and promptly answers it. “Listen dipshit, (Y/n) wants nothing to do with you. You broke her heart, you cheated, so stop fucking calling her! And if you call her again or even bother her again, I will beat your ass.”

Your eyes are blown wide at the ashy blond sticking up for you. Said ex had been harassing you nonstop since your break up two months ago and Bakugou had had enough. You didn’t think he would answer the phone for you, but he and Mina are the only ones who knew just how manipulative your ex had been so is this really that surprising? You hear the voice of your exasperated ex yell out over the phone. “And just who the fuck are you to tell me this? Her bodyguard?” You weren’t ready for how Bakugou would respond, eyes alight with a strong energy.

“Better, I’m her boyfriend.”

And he hung up.

When he returned the phone to you, your jaw was practically on the floor. All eyes in the apartment were on him as he lays back on the couch with his eyes closed. Then all eyes turn to you, equally surprised. Did he just say what you thought he said? Boyfriend? But you two hadn’t been on a date yet or even discussed it or…

“That should solve your problem.”

“Bakugou what the fuck!?” You yelled and punched his arm. “We’re not dating, why did you tell him that?”

He exhales softly and turns his attention to you, eyeing you all over. “Princess, you really can’t be that dense.” As he finishes speaking in a low tone, his arm wraps around your shoulders. You meet his gaze as if his eyes are asking for approval. “Is this,” he asks softly, “okay?”

Completely forgetting about everyone else in the room, you nod slowly. You close and lick your lips as you start to recall and remember every interaction you’ve had with the blond. How caring and attentive he’s been in his own way, how he would go above and beyond for you in the subtle ways. It all made sense, maybe you were super dense but it’s better late than never.

To further confirm your thoughts and feelings, you lean into him and lightly place your lips over his in a chaste kiss.

“It’s very okay, Katsuki.”

“Ew oh my god I’m right here. Get a room!”

“Shut up Dunce Face!”

That was a year ago, marking today as your anniversary. You had told him to come to your apartment after he had finished up at the gym with the guys. Luckily, Mina had made plans with Sero so you had the whole place to yourself. It was exciting to finally have some quality alone time with him before finals overwhelmed you all.

It was also a wonderful excuse for the two of you to be as loud as you wanted.

You wore a dress he really liked and underneath, a special surprise set of lingerie in some of his favorite colors: green, black, and orange. You were too ecstatic for him to see it, and better yet to take it off. You had felt a little uncomfortable because of your curves but he had always assured you that he loves you no matter your body shape.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the front door of your apartment open up. You pause your food making in the kitchen to go greet your boyfriend. As you approach the doorway, you see him and smell how fresh he is from the gym; it seems he showered at the gym. In his right hand is a bouquet of your favorite flowers and his left a gift bag.

“Hey sweetcheeks,” a growing smirk on his lips as he looks you up and down. You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate at your dress, knowing it’s his favorite. Since taking off his shoes, he steps up to you and sweetly kisses your lips. “Happy anniversary.”

“’Suki, you didn’t have to get me anything.” You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “I’m fine with just having you.”

“Tch, dumbass. I know you got me something, you didn’t think I noticed that box that came in a couple days ago?”

You pout at him and take your gifts out of his hands and place them on the couch. “How’d you know?” You whine about the ruined surprise but you should’ve known your boyfriend better. “Do you know what it is?”

He runs his hand through his freshly washed hair and bites his bottom lip, “I think I have an idea, babe. Whatcha makin’?”

You twirl around in your dress, knowing damn well it’s an amazing and easy distraction to him. “Just your favorite. Everything should be ready in about 30 or so minutes?”

Suddenly you feel yourself being pushed up against the hallway wall, face to face with your gorgeous boyfriend. “Good,” he whispers huskily, “that’s enough time to enjoy my gift and dessert early.”

His voice went straight to your, now, damp panties.

You feel his hands grip your thighs to have your legs wrap around his torso. His hot breath fans over your awaiting lips, as he then kisses you hungrily. You feel his hard on against your stomach and you moan at the feel. Bakugou breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear, the heat touching your ear making you melt. “I wanna see what you got me, princess.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

With his hold on you secure, he takes you to your room blindly already knowing the way. With your door closed he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and licking all over. He places your feet on the ground as he grinds his hips into yours. Your breathing increases as you scratch at the back of his shirt. “Katsuki,” you whine.

“Mmm?”

“I want you to take off my dress.”

He hears your request and leaves your neck. He turns you around to find the zipper at the back, and slowly unzips your dress. You can feel his warm calloused fingers trailing down your spine and down to your tail bone. The fabric is now bunched down on the ground around your feet and you step out, swaying your hips as you turn around.

“Fuck baby,” he huffs, “for me?”

He had felt some of the satin as he unzipped your dress but it didn’t prepare him for what he saw before his lust blazed eyes. His colors look amazing on you and so does lace and satin. The flowered lace covering your breasts and nipples are begging for him to delve his tongue on them, admiring the extra fabric going across them. Your stomach is covered in a crisscross pattern that makes your skin look divine. And the garters on your legs, and lace thong? Bakugou is in heaven.

You nod at him and gesture for him to come closer. Bakugou gets to you post haste and starts touching you everywhere. His fingers trace all along your body and sneaking underneath your lingerie. He then trails his fingers up to your lace covered breasts and starts to pinch the hardening nub. A little squeal leaves your lips.

“That’s a new sound, do you like the feel of the lace against your nipple, baby?”

He pinches and pulls at them again, getting the same reaction that went right to his gardening dick. He groans and starts to knead your other breast, enjoying the feel of it in his hand. “Fuck,” he quickly kisses your lips, sticking his tongue in and lapping at yours, “I just wanna rip you out of this.”

“Hah, you will do no such thing. I paid a lot of money for this!”

“I’ll get you a new one, princess.”

“You are not ripping this one!”

He rolls his eyes and concedes, taking his delicate time to free your upper half from the sexy lingerie. You make a mental note to buy more lace related items. Immediately his lips go to your hardened bud and sucks viciously. You moan loudly as he releases you with a pop, going to your other breast. God, you wish he wasn’t so good with his hands and tongue, but the way he’s treating you and your reactions say otherwise.

Bakugou slowly moves you two toward your bed, in order to lay you down for what he wants to do next. You feel the back of your legs hit the edge and he places your body underneath his. Throughout all of this his lips never left your body. His lips trail closer and closer to your hips, as they wiggle in anticipation. “Do you,” you pant, “want the bottoms off?”

He takes the lining into his fingers and snaps it onto your unaware skin making you yelp. “No, your legs look hella sexy like this.” His hands are warm against your things, outlining the garter that leads up to your now soaked through thong. His nose brushes against the fabric covering your heat and he feels you shudder at the touch. He tentatively licks at your wetness and he groans in pleasure at how wet you are for him. Fuck he really loves you.

He doesn’t wait any longer and pushes the fabric aside and inserts his tongue into your awaiting heat. You whimper at the intrusion and a hand automatically goes to his hair, pulling lightly. He keeps moving his tongue up and down your slit tantalizingly slow as his fingers play and mess with your outer lips. Your breaths become erratic at your boyfriends ministrations. Before you can say anything, he moves his lips to your clit and sucks at it harshly. Your back arches off the mattress as you curse that the pleasure being given to you.

Two fingers have already entered your heat and scissor and stretch you open. Your hips have a mind of their own as they gyrate on their own accord. “Don’t make me force you to stay down, princess,” he hums against your heat. Just him saying that sends you into a frenzy, forcing him to plant his arm against your pelvis to limit your movements. He can feel the deep coil inside you that wants to come undone. And it’s all because of him and for him. His actions start to speed up and then suddenly he pulls away, making you whine at the loss of contact and friction.

“What the hell? I was so close!”

Bakugou snickers and wipes at his chin and sucks his fingers of some of your juices. The only word to describe him licking you off of him: erotic. “I want you to cum all over my cock, baby girl. Can you be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod. As he stands to put himself on your bed, you notice his raging hard on straining against pants.  Damn, it was hot. His pre was already leaving a stain and you wanted more than nothing than to have his dick in your mouth. Ruby eyes follow yours and he clicks in on what has your mouth watering. “If I wasn’t so eager to be inside you right now, I’d let you suck me dry. But all I want to is to be in your fucking pussy, you riding me.”

After he makes his declaration, Bakugou discards his pants and boxers and throws them somewhere in your room. He crawls up to you in between your legs and meets you with a fiery kiss. You taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he entangles you with his scent and flavor. It’s incredibly sexy and it only makes you want him more. You take a leg and turn the two of you over, with you hovering over his tight and toned body. You know he wants this to be special because you’re on top and you’re face to face. Usually if it’s just fucking you’ll do a plethora of positions. But right now you know that you want to enjoy each others presence and make sweet love. Sitting back on your legs, you lean over to your nightstand and grab a condom. You take the wrapper in your mouth, easily tearing it to reveal the rubber. A naughty idea enters your head.

“What are you doing, baby?”

All you do is lift your eyebrows and scoot back. You take the condom in your mouth and bend over close to his aching cock. You can feel his eyes on you as you lower your mouth onto him, slowly putting the condom over his hard dick. “Ah fuck, princess! Shit feels good. Now get on top of me. Now.”

You giggle at his impatience and make your way to his covered member. You grip it lightly as you line it up with your wet slit, teasing the head of his sensitive cock. His moans are heavenly in your ears as you don’t sink on him yet completely.

Bakugous hands go to your waist, as little whimpers leave his lips at your agonizing teasing. “Shit princess, just put it in already- Hah fuck!”

It’s not everyday you catch the ashy blond of guard but when you it’s glorious. You slam yourself down on his dick, euphoria filling your senses. You loll your head back as you begin to ride him, keeping a hand on his pelvis. The two of you find a hypnotic rhythm of him pumping up into you, and you grinding down on him.

His eyes can’t help but be locked onto where you’re connected, enjoying the sounds of your slick cunt on his cock. He moves his hands from your hips to grip your bouncing breasts, adding extra pleasure to this experience. Whines and moans leave yours and his mouths as you both chase ecstasy together.

“Fuck, baby girl, it’s like your extra tight and wet for me today.”

“Hah, it’s cause I love you,” you pants your hips gyrate faster as you feel your orgasm coming closer. “I’m so close now, daddy. I wanna cum, please.” You’re begging more than usual and it feels oh so good.

You feel your clit being abused and you shout at the overwhelming pleasure rocking through you as your pace falters. “You wanna cum for me? Show me you’ve earned it.” Bakugou sits up, making your legs wrap around his waist, still pumping into you. Your arms find purchase around his neck as you lay your head on his chest, ignoring the sweat between the two of you. “Come on, show me you’ve earned it baby.”

“I’ve earned it, I’ve earned it!”

“Then come with me baby,” he pauses when he feels your fingers dig into his back. “Shit, ah right there baby, fuck, fuck!”

Your hold on him tightens as your coil comes undone and your spill all over his cock, and you feel the way his cum fills up the rubber. You two start to slow down your movements, helping each other through your orgasms. You stay there for a little bit, just enjoying the moment and to let your heartbeats come back to normal.

You roll off of him and lay down next to your spent boyfriend. He looks at you with the most love and adoration that you feel like you’re meeting him for the first time. His palm goes to your cheek to pull you in to a soft and loving kiss. It doesn’t last long as you hear the timer on the oven and the rice maker go off around the same time. Your boyfriend grumbles and rolls to stand. He carefully takes off the used up condom, ties it up and disposes it in the trashcan.

“I’ll turn off the timer, anything else you need while I’m up?”

“Some water, and my favorite post coitus snacks.”

His eyes roll, “Idiot, you made a whole meal we’re not gonna waste it because you got sex munchies.”

“’Suki!”

He throws a towel at you, ignoring your pleas. As he walks away stark naked, you lay back in your bed. You can deal with the sheets later. A feeling of love runs over you and you realize that this is something you could get used to for a long time to come.

The diner is open 

[faejilly]

I was tagged by @la-muerta​ & @facialteeth​ & @thedivinemissema​ for the WIP/Title Game

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

AND THEN  by @shadoedseptmbr​ @msviolacea​ & @ravenclawnerd​ for the “stories you want to write... but for some reason haven’t yet”

so this will be a mish-mash of both? The WIPs will mostly have blurbs in this case (to fit the second meme) but you are still welcome to ask follow-up questions, if you’d like ;) Assuming you make it through the list, it is uh. Not Short.

Anyone who would like to play with their WIPs, please consider yourself tagged in either or both of these. :D

Misc Fic Folder:

“untitled document” - where I’m working on fictober fills so I have word-counts for my GYWO tracker. I am not working on these because Brains Are Dumb and also Going Back To Work Is Exhausting

I made a file called “YULETIDE!” which has nothing in it but I’m determined to finish this year so that is definitely technically a thing in the Unending WIP List of Doom worth mentioning. (Tho obviously that’s all I could say even if I had started, because anonymous.)

“coda-fics, rewatch!” -yes, that exclamation mark is important! it’s to keep me motivated! (it didn’t work). Much like untitled, this is for putting stuff so I can do word count tracking even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Currently I think it just says “MARYSE” because I was working on my SH 1x6 coda-fic and then got distracted and haven’t typed anything up yet. (Yay notebooks? Boo notebooks? Not even sure at this point.)

WNIP (works not in progress) Folder:

“TOG” - I had one vivid mental image of how Nicky & Joe met (blood-stained evil smiles?) but then no idea for a follow-up story and also the fandom is insane and I’m not sure I want to deal with all of *gestures vaguely* all that

“Shan Xia Notes” -for a TTRPG that never quite got off the ground; she was a semi-tragic selkie who was still in love with the evil queen/lady who stole her skin and I got to play her for like one session and she was surprisingly chaotic neutral, which wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. But the game never really got off the ground, so I never had enough info to really delve into writing backstory fic

“post-Kruschev” -Kruschev��s List was the last episode of Scarecrow & Mrs King, and I was debating writing an epilogue in place of the s5 we never got, to try and tie up some loose ends, but the fandom’s three old-ladies in trench coats and I never quite worked up the gumption to get it anywhere

“Code Realize warm as silk sequel” -there is literally nothing in this file except “SEX! Only a little angst” because I wanted to write some “we can’t actually touch each other” smut but never actually did. 🤷‍♀️

BioWare (also all Not-In-Progress Anymore)

“seb/adelaide”, “Theia” & “DAI Erana” -these WIP folders were cannibalized for ficlets for the last few times I did fictober, and while originally I had ideas for longer epilogues for all three of them, at this point I don’t think any of the remaining bits could support a story any longer.

”whispers in the dark” -Maia Ryder never really got much fic at all; the cancellation of any further Andromeda stuff was really disheartening, and at this point I’d have to play the game again, and I don’t think I’m gonna manage that any time soon

”TSP” -a Mass Effect 3 Shepard AU collab project that kind of went off the rails, and our mutual brains/lives never quite seem to line up so we can try and rebuild it ”Ngaio & Tane” -my one truly ruthless Shepard (Alliance background, who romanced Traynor) whose father Tane Shepard was, I think, in PsyOps, and I wanted to figure out their complicated relationship but never really did know where I was going with it

”JE Zu & Yaling” -so I’ve rambled about my Tragic Sagacious Zu Romance Thoughts regarding Jade Empire more than once (#Icy Yaling should have most of it) but apparently I want to yell about it more than I want to actually write it? Whoops.

”CI sequel: 5 times fic?” -Cruel Intentions is a kinkmeme fill that I started and then it sat for like five years before I actually finished it, and I liked the ending, but it does leave a giant fucking question mark in terms of how those people got from there to where they are after the game, and I kind of wanted to write a proper h/c fic rather than just... leaving them wallowing in all that trauma?

But I didn’t. I don’t even remember for sure how I wanted to frame the 5/1 of it all, besides it being something sad about allowing people to see you or touch you in some way. (Prayers maybe, since I think there was definitely some Sebastian & Fenris & faith stuff going on in there.)

“candles” -Merribela prompt fill that I never was happy with? Not sure what I might do with it at this point, so it’s just sitting there all sad and lonely and neglected-like.

Shadowhunters

pt1: WIP LIST ONLY

“Persuasion” -so I keep trying to write Persuasion AUs in many fandoms because it’s my favorite Austen, but I think I like it too much, I have no real solid concept of how I’d transform it, and if I don’t have anything else to say about different characters within that framework, I have no push to actually write anything? Also this SH version of it suffered from MASSIVE scope creep when I started outlining and it got too big for me to handle so I like, killed it twice? Whoops. This one is really probably never gonna happen.

“oosdt sequel” -I wanted to write more about the Forest That Eats People and Magnus & Alec as Guardians Between Worlds, and also some background Magnus’ Found Family & Lightwood Family Feels (maybe some clizzy?) and I left a Madzie plot-thread dangling from the first one on purpose even but I think this one had too many ideas and not enough focus so it’s sort of sprawling all over a doc with a lot of “???” in it

“procedural-ish” -this was originally going to be a sex-farce. and then it turned more serious. and then maybe kind of copaganda which was uncomfortable in terms of the Everything That Is The News in 2020, and then maybe it was more a Mafia AU and at that point I had self-inflicted tone whiplash and I wished the voices in my head were a little more forthcoming about their plans so I stopped before I brained myself on my computer monitor in frustration.

“I had rather a rose than live forever” -I started a reverse!verse Malec (Shadowhunter!Magnus, High Warlock!Alec) for bingo last year, and I couldn’t quite get it together in time, so I made a moodboard inspired by the bits I’d started instead. I may see if one of my prompts from Bingo this year help me finish it?

“fall fright fest (practical magic  au)” -exactly what it says on the tin! almost exactly a year old & neglected! IDEK ANYMORE (I talked about this one with the WIP meme last time tho: here)

“priest!kink theology?” -I thought it was gonna be smut? I like priest!kink. I have made other people like it and yell at me even! But then I kept diverging into demon!Magnus thinking about Priest!Alec’s faith and as usual, IDEK ANYMORE *laughs*

(If they’re remotely canon-adjacent or divergent, a bunch of these are in here because I need to rewatch the show to get the pacing/timing/tone right and I haven’t, and I don’t know why, because I enjoy the show, but BRAINS! Are Dumb! So I guess that’s it?)

“I do” -I have tried to write this damnable Malec arranged marriage fic like six different times. I have signed up for fic exchanges and bangs with it, I have rewritten massive sections, trying to change tone or structure or POV or whatever, and it basically comes down to they like each other too fast and I keep not gutting it enough to get back to a useful pace, but by the time I realized that I was on take six and kind of sick of it. I may get back to it eventually

“wing!fic” -canon divergent in early s1, trying to deal with the consequences of Simon’s kidnapping as the Truly Serious Event that it should have been. It uh. Got heavier than I expected with those consequences (considering it was originally just supposed to be Alec’s wings flirting with Magnus) and also see above re: rewatching for pacing.

“2x20 aftermath/date night/pandemonium porn“ -yes that is the actual wip title. It used to be “spite fic” because I was originally inspired by fighting against a lot of fic!Alec characterization that was clearly based more on the books and ATG syndrome than the Alec in the show, which is the Alec I know and like and want to read about. BUT, pacing and etc. again, I think. Also I have somehow entirely lost my knack for writing porn, which makes it difficult to finish something originally intended to be smut!fic. Or even teasing almost!smut.

“rubbish heap” -so this is about three different fics that I realized complemented each other really well so they’re now all in the same file as I try to turn them into the sequel of “with an if in its soul”. It includes amnesia, parabatai lore shenanigans, a s3 rewrite, and some truly awful Owl adjustments that make me wince in horrified authorly delight and pain. BUT, as with the other ones in this file, the scope is large and I normally write short-fic and I kind of just threw up my hands in exasperation. I may have to break it back up into the three different fics instead, if I ever actually want to write it. Them? But also I need to take better notes on s3 to make sure I have what I need in here.

SH Pt 2: Started posting or not yet in hiatus because it’s actually almost ready to be a thing in the real world! maybe!?

“kisses (firsts)” -I actually started publishing this one, a “series of firsts” that was supposed to be kind of relationship milestones and kind of an excuse for smut, and then there wasn’t that much smut and I lost momentum and also dear lords & ladies the timeline is stupid, wtf. I may not ever add to this one, tbqh. It doesn’t stop in a terrible place, and they’re all ficlets so they stand alone all right.

“clizzy epilogue” -this is blank atm, it’s more a reminder for me to keep poking away at my “girls who can’t breathe air, only fire” collection BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO ACTUALLY GET TO THE CLIZZY AT SOME POINT

"mer!alec" -pts 2-4 of a series, but apparently having an actual plan gets in the way of me *writing* the thing, and I haven't managed to throw the half an outline far enough away from my brain to be able to write again. Or something like that.

"ibhww" -if broken hearts were whole is a soulmate fic I started a million years ago, and purposefully set aside to finish some other WIPs because I thought they'd be quick, and now it's just buried under two and a half years of regret and shame so it's hard to get back to it

"iafy" -i am for you is a delightful & frothy semi-epistolary fluff piece that also just lost momentum because Life & 2020 & etc. It's far and away the most popular thing I've ever posted on AO3, which also makes me feel weird sometimes, and I feel like the fact that there's no grand conclusion planned, just a bit more fluff and settling in, might end up being disappointing? Basically, it's the first time I think I've psyched myself out about reader expectations, and until I get over that I'm going to have trouble finishing the last couple chapters. (There really are probably only two more chapters though. IT’S SO CLOSE, I wish I could just... write it. And yet?)

“fake-hating” -I do not like fake dating as a trope that much, I just do not get it, but I love outside POVs and arranged marriages and there’s this delighful tumblr post about how they wished there was more fic about people who were together but had to pretend they werent’, and uh. This may be that? Eventually? I’m not exhausted by my failure to finish it yet, so it’s still in the regular folder rather than the hiatus folder, even though nothing’s been posted for it.

AND I THINK THAT’S IT?

Not as terrible as it could be, but still. MANY WORDS THAT MAY NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. Posting the equivalent of one’s old ratty sketchbook is always a weird feeling. :D

[creampiecashton]

tags glossary

I noticed that my 5sos tags are hella wack and I'm the only person who understands them so here’s a post showing what means what:

frivolous sauces - self explanatory, 5 seconds of summer is the lengthier version of 5sos, which many Americans say sounds like 5 sauce. I can’t hear it because my accent doesn’t let that happen, however, it did birth frivolous sauces, simply via relation.

lone - superbloom is a solo project, solo is singular is alone is lone.

fashion - this one means Ashton because not only is he insanely fashionable but his name also sounds like it

miguel - I stole that from an interview the guys did where they were playing tennis (???) and Michael referred to himself as Miguel and I was like aight

lewk - Luke is a lewk. periodt.

caltex - yes this is an oil company. no I do not care. this one’s for Calum, mainly because I had never seen Calum spelt with only one ‘L’ and I was like “huh. Caltex is also spelt with only one ‘L’. they must be the same” so yeah.

soup - okay so i LOVE kaykay but hear me out,, her name is literally kay kay which is KK. like the letters of the alphabet. alphabet soup. now it was either this or white supremacy you guys.

skates - okay this is a long one so buckle up. crystal, is gems, is spirituality, is chakra, is chakla (the punjabi/hindi/urdu word for a rolling board), is rolling board, is roller skates, is skates. love you crystal have a great day.

chickpea powder - yet ANOTHER long one. aight so sierra sounds like tierra (I could have said tiara but whatever) sounds like tiers sounds like cake tiers. what cakes have the most tiers? wedding cakes. ‘but i’m indian, weddings have many stages!!’ you may hear my brain complain, well no worries because we can pick one of the coolest ceremonies, vatna (it’s about being clean and getting ready for the wedding). vatna’s main component is the vatna (obviously????)...an all natural body scrub mixture that mainly includes chickpea powder!! wow!! anyway the punjabi word for chickpeas is also the same word for balls lol. but the english way of saying chickpea actually sounds super cute so sierra deserves this.

teacher - roy english looks like the closeted lesbian english teacher i probably had a crush on when i was 8. you cannot change my mind.

charcuterie - moodboard=foodboard=charcuterie board=charcuterie

cleaning solution - gifs=some people pronounce it as jiff how dare you=an australian cleaning solution called jiff which smells delicious but it’s a cleaning solution so don’t eat it please.

pain :) - I love hands. hands have veins. i also love veins. vein sounds like pain (which is also in fact what hands and veins cause me). therefore, any hand/vein posts are tagged as pain :)

rumplestiltskin - reserved for the DIMPLES. majorly an ash tag but occasionally the others join. this one is dimple becomes rimple (a name, depending on who you’re talking to) becomes rumple becomes rumplestiltskin. also, much like rumplestiltskin the dimples terrorise me and ask for my first born child as collateral.

giuseppe - harry giuseppe, the italian harry potter, sounds like bicep!! therefore, bicep!

silence - alright buckle in buckaroo this is another long one! what do noses have? snot/mucus. but thats already a tag. what for, you may ask? for muke. now, it'd be hella annoying if I tagged nose posts with ‘muke’, so what’s an alternative? muke can be pronounced as moo-k as well, which in hindsight, I could have made the tag about cows but no. I decided to scrap moo-k and go for muke, which also subsequently sounds like mutuals, now it’d ALSO be hella annoying if I used that as a tag for noses. so? I call my mutuals cuties because cuties sounds like muties, but I cant use cuties because im already using that for my mutuals and general people I love! so? muties sounds like muted which is like quiet! the opposite of quiet? noise! a ruckus, even. and the more DIRECT opposite of noise? silence. I also think that its a cool contrast that my nose tag is a word pertaining to one of the OTHER senses. anyway.

twink - this is my eye tag (?) i don’t remember what my train of thought was here because i procrastinated adding it here and now i’ve forgotten but it exist, okay? i think it might have been eyes blink and blink rhymes with twink although i don’t remember so let’s just go with that

lippen- this one is my lip tag and is also the german translation for lips. i actually thought lip becomes blip becomes blimp which was in both world wars which were both blamed on germany and the german translation for lips is lippen

wow... - this is my thirst tag. what more do yall need.

awee - this is my absolutely adorable tag!!! anything that makes me go “aweeee” goes under that tag, relatively self explanatory, actually.

fruit - fashion icons?? but fashion is reserved for ashton and it'd be annoying if i tagged fashion as ashton, so what rhymes with fashion? passion. which can be branched off to passion fruit. shortened to fruit. :)

art - art was going to be fart but i thought people might take it the wrong way, so its the only normal one :) which i think is kinda dope because it adds to the chaos that is my tags :)

fave - this is another version of my thirst tag but it’s more aesthetically pleasing as opposed to horny

disk-sauce - discourse. also 5 Sauce. im australian, it works with my accent.

recs - recs=recommendations!!

cuties! - this is my asks/mutuals/people I love tag. mainly because mutuals becomes muties becomes cuties. listen, it was either this or mutants.

pie - Luke and Calum is cake, what else is almost cake? pie

mammaries - Michael and Calum is malum, honestly im just getting lazy now but they’re kind of related. sidenote: the two do have nice tiddies tho.

mashed potatoes - Michael and Ashton is mashton, or mashed potatoes. also because they’re softies and most likely delicious

money - Calum and Ashton is cashton, cash cash money babeyyyy

eyelashes - Luke and Ashton is lashton, also they both have gorgeous eyelashes so I should not be convicted of mass arson thank you

snot - Luke and Michael is muke. is mucus. is snot. I promise I dont hate them its just how my brain works.

harlem shake - Michael, Ashton and Calum is mashlum. i thought of mashed potatoes, then the mashed potato dance move, then the mosh dance move, then had a separate thought of harlem as in the city, and then i combined harlem and “dance move” and got the harlem shake. 2011 stays winning.

carlton draught - Calum, Ashton and Luke is caluton (?? i think i don’t remember the specifics that i thought of) anyway it sounds like carlton which i could have gone in the footie direction and named them the blues or then gone ahead and called them RNB for rhythm and blues, but instead i went in the alcohol direction because these three most definitely belong in a frat.

sins - Michael, Luke and Calum are Maluke! Horrible! Sounds like malpractice! Which is wrongdoing! Which is sins! Also! Sinful looks! Beautiful boys! Hell’s most devilish soldiers! I hate that I said That!

chandigarh lite - moose moose is moose. is canada. is kaneda. is where majority of punjabi kids immigrate to for a good life. the capital of punjab is chandigarh. love you moose for supporting immigrants!!

north east west - southy but the opposite.

the real mvp - petunia is almost peonie. she’s also significantly more superior to luke. the real most valuable peonie.

my fave scotsman - Duke, duke of edinburgh, edinburgh is in scotland, calum’s half scottish, therefore the baby is my fave scotsman

[conartisthaiji]

Based off of this AU prompt from Tumblr (and I can’t find the original post with it, sorry): our mutual friend invited us to Thanksgiving dinner and things got a little rowdy and a food fight erupted, and now mashed potatoes and turkey are flying everywhere. But we're hiding under the table sharing a bag of chips I brought along just in case.

Which I intended to write for Hak/Yona, but it somehow ended up being about the Happy Hungry Bunch, plus Lili, Ayura, and Tetora celebrating Thanksgiving together. In a modern AU.

actual fic under cut.

"Yona, Lili, Tetora, we are going to be late!" Ayura yells, annoyance dripping from her voice.

"Lili still needs some help!" Tetora calls back. "Be patient, Ayura! Besides, Yun won't mind."

"I'm coming!" Yona shouts as she carefully slides in the flower clip into her red hair. "Just let me grab my bag!"

She reaches down and snatches up her beaded purse. Her eyes suddenly fall on the bag of chips by her bedside. It's barely been touched-she's eaten maybe three of them??-so she can totally bring it along. This is a potluck, after all.

So Yona snatches it and places it in her bag, then runs out. "I'm here!" she announces to Ayura. "How do I look?"

Ayura smiles. "You look good."

Feet suddenly pound down the hall, interrupting the brief moment silence. Tetora appears first, grinning like a lunatic.

"Ayura, look at how beautiful Lili is!" Tetora squeals with pride as Lili appears in view.

"Lili does look amazing," Ayura concedes. "You did a good job with her makeup."

"Okay! Let's go!" Lili cries. "Into the car, everyone!!"

"Onward!" Yona cries, pointing upward. "Let's go!"

"I call shotgun!" Tetora exclaims gleefully.

"Please just get in the car," Ayura says as she slides into the driver's seat. "And, no, Tetora, it's Lili's turn today, honestly!"

"Ha!!" Lili sticks out her tongue.

Ayura starts the car, and they begin to drive off to Yun's house.

"Wait!" Tetora screeches suddenly, causing Ayura to slam the brake and the car to screech. "We forgot the jello!"

"Damn it!" Ayura wheels the car around (driving too fast for a residential area, honestly). "That took ages to make!"

They reach their apartment and Lili sprints out of the car. She returns, moments later, carrying the platter of cranberry jello. She hops in the car and passes the jello back to Tetora.

"Anything else?" Ayura demands.

"Nope!" Yona says cheerfully, and the car heads off.

They arrive at Yun's house, and noisily pile out of the car. Then, they walk up to the front door, and Yona rings the doorbell. "Hello!" Yun exclaims as he opens the door. "Come in, I'll take that, Tetora." Yun grabs the jello and starts walking to the kitchen. Yona follows, hoping for a snack.

"Yona, snacks are over there, go mingle," Yun grumbles, but not in a mean way. "Kaya brought the extra cheesy goldfish, I know you like those."

"Really? Kaya's here?" Yona asks. "But Yun, seriously, do you need any help?"

"I've got it under control," Yun replies. "But thanks for offering."

Yona nods and joins the rest of the guests in the living room. Just like Yun said, there are three giant cardboard boxes of the extra cheesy goldfish sitting on the living room table, all opened. Yona reaches out and grabs a handful.

"Yona, dear, you look so beautiful," Jae-ha says, pulling her in for a hug. "How are you?"

Yona grins. "Wonderful! How are you, Jae-ha?"

"Beautiful, of course," Jae-ha replies, and tosses his hair just slightly. "So, what have you been up to lately?"

"Just school," Yona admits. "What about you, Jae-ha?"

"Oh, here and there. Wait, Yona, there's someone I want you to meet." Jae-ha looks around, then calls out, "Hak!"

A tall, dark haired man appears, with the look of eternal grumpiness upon his face. "What do you want, Droopy Eyes?"

"Droopy...eyes?" Yona repeats, confused.

"Hak, this is my very dear friend Yona! Yona, this is Hak, who is eternally unpleasant," Jae-ha says. "Yona, I met Hak at work. He's a very nice person, once you get past his rudeness."

"I'm not rude," Hak says. "You're the one who basically attacked me when you first saw me."

"How dare you accuse me of such an ugly action!"

Yona snickers and Hak rolls his eyes at Jae-ha's dramatics.

"Miss!!" Someone slams into her from behind, and Yona stumbles a little.

"Zeno!" Yona laughs as she steadies herself. She can feel Zeno's arms around her. "Don't do that!"

"Haha, Zeno is sorry, Miss!" Zeno barely looks sheepish, and Yona knows that it's futile to ask him to stop hugging her.

"Hello, Yona," Kaya says, appearing next to Zeno. "How are you?"

"Wonderful, how are you?"

"I just got released from the hospital, so pretty wonderful, actually," Kaya replies. She slides an arm around Zeno's waist. "It should be a few weeks before I have to go back."

"And Zeno and Kaya will have a grand time before she does!" Zeno cheers, pulling Kaya in closer. "You should hang out too, Yona. It will be fun-oh, Jae-ha!! Hello!"

Both Yona and Kaya hold back snorts as Zeno practically flings himself at Jae-ha, who easily hugs Zeno right back.

"Zeno, you should meet Hak," Jae-ha says. "Hak-huh? Where'd he-HAK!"

"I was talking to White Snake," Hak mutters as he appears. "What do you want now?"

"Hak, this is Zeno and Kaya. Zeno, Kaya, this is Hak," Jae-ha announces.

"Hello!" Yona greets Hak, who nods in return.

"Jae-ha, the room isn't too large and there's not that many people, you don't have to yell," a white haired man says, scoldingly. "Hak is perfectly capable of hearing you if you spoke normally."

"Kija-"

"Kija! I didn't know you'd be here!" Zeno exclaims.

"Hi, Zeno, hello, Kaya," Kija greets. "Hello, Yona."

"You didn't tell me that you knew Yun!" Yona says. "Wow. So many wonderful people are here tonight, I'm so lucky-"

"EVERYONE!!" Yun suddenly shouts, and the room falls silent. "Food is that way! Please sit down!"

"Yes, Mother," Jae-ha snarks, and both Kija and Hak smack him.

"I don't remember giving birth to you Jae-ha!!!"

"What? I certainly did not say anything of the sort," Jae-ha gasps, mock offended.

"You did," Kija mutters as they all move to the table.

Yona sits next to Shin-ah, who has brought Ao, his pet squirrel, to the party.

"Hello, Shin-ah, hello, Ao!" Yona chirps. "How are you?"

"Pikyuu~" Ao squeaks, smiling up at Yona. She seems to beam from her perch on Shin-ah's shoulder.

Shin-ah offers a smile at Yona, and Yona beams even more.

"I told you cranberry jello was unnecessary!" Tetora cries, amidst the chaos, and Yona snickers.

"It's Thanksgiving!" Ayura shoots back.

"There are French fries!" Tetora retorts.

"Okay, so we're the only ones who got the memo that it's Thanksgiving!"

"Someone brought stew!"

"Would everyone shut up and sit down and eat?!" Yun bellows. Ayura and Tetora guiltily drop into some empty seats. "Also, I made the stew."

Tetora looks a little more embarrassed at that.

"Shin-ah, what did you bring?" Yona asks, as she helps herself to some of the French fries. The buzz of chatter quickly picks up again.

"Fruit salad," Shin-ah replies softly.

"Ah, I will definitely try it!" Yona then turns to her left, where Kaya is. "Kaya, Yun said you brought the goldfish?"

"Yes, and Zeno and I also brought caramel corn," Kaya replies. "Give me some fruit salad when it gets here, please?"

"Of course," Yona says.

There's plenty of light-hearted chatter as everyone helps themselves to the numerous dishes on the table. Yona tells Kaya-and Zeno, by extension, as he sits next to Kaya-about the events of the past two weeks, as Kaya had been in the hospital, and Zeno had spent most of those two weeks by Kaya's side. Shin-ah occasionally corrects Yona when she messes up the details, but overall, it is a good system.

"TAKE THAT BACK, JAE-HA!" Lili shouts suddenly, standing up and pointing a fork-with a half-eaten chicken nugget on it-at Jae-ha. "GUEN-TAE IS A VERY BEAUTIFUL MAN!"

"Eh, he's alright," Jae-ha says. "But Lili, darling, you could do so much better."

"No!! Guen-tae is perfect and wonderful!" Lili retorts, waving her fork dramatically. "You who speak of beauty, should know that!"

The chicken nugget flies off her fork and lands on Kija's head.

"Guen-tae isn't single, Lili," Jae-ha says, rather condescendingly.

As he finishes the sentence, Kija throws the chicken nugget at Lili's face, and hits her square on the cheek.

"You-" Lili gasps and whirls around to face Kija, who seems to realize that he's made a terrible mistake.

"ZENO LOVES FOOD FIGHTS!" Zeno shouts, and throws his French fries in the air.

The room descends into chaos as everyone starts hurling their food at each other. Yona swings her plate around, watching as food flies off of it. Ayura and Tetora grab the jello, cut it in half, and then they slam one half into Kija's face, and other onto Jae-ha's. Shin-ah and Ao throw nuts at everyone. Kaya and Zeno gleefully fling their food-and plates-into the air. Kija dumps the entire bowl of stew on Jae-ha, who retaliates by grabbing the mostly empty bowl and dropping it on Kija's head. Lili flings fruit in a gigantic circle.

Yona gasps as she dives to avoid a strawberry. The table shakes, and her arm sweeps out and knocks over a glass water cup, which in turn topples its neighbors. They topple over, one at a time, water spilling over the tablecloth and falling to the floor-

She gasps as one cup rolls and then lands on the floor, bouncing a little, before it settles down. Yona bends down, and freezes when she sees the long crack now decorating the glass.

"Oh no oh no," she whispers, panicked. "Yun's going to be so mad!"

She grabs her purse and dives under the table. If she pretends she hid as soon as Zeno first threw the fries, then perhaps Yun won't be mad...at her.

"Hello," Hak grumbles, and Yona jumps. "Hiding?"

"Hak! You scared me!" Yona complains. "But yeah, it's so...insane...out there."

The two of them sit in silence, huddled under the table and listening to their friends' insane yelling and screaming. Yona slowly pulls out the bag of chips from her purse and eats one.

"You have chips?" Hak asks.

"Yup! In case of an emergency," Yona replies. "Want some?"

"Sure." Hak reaches out and grabs a few. "So. Yona. How long have you known Yun?"

"I've known him for what feels like forever," Yona says. "He's been like a brother, or really, a mother. I have Ayura and Tetora now, because...well, they're old enough to take care of me, I guess. But Yun has always been around ever since...well. Since as long as I can remember, I suppose." She turns to Hak. "How do you know Yun?"

Hak slowly crunches on some chips before answering. "I moved here recently, after my best friend and roommate turned out to be a murderer. Droopy Eyes was the overenergetic beauty store salesman that White Snake, my new roommate, was crushing on, and so obviously we had to go to the mall practically every day. Droopy Eyes and White Snake introduced me to Yun, and Zeno, and Shin-ah, but never you."

"Ah, Kija said he wanted me to meet you," Yona admits. "But there was never a good time, I suppose."

"Yeah..." Hak says. "So. Lili, Ayura, and Tetora. How do you know them?"

"Lili is my cousin! Ayura is her older sister, and Tetora is her girlfriend," Yona explains. "They took me in after...um." Yona pauses, for the memories, despite being old, are still painful. "After my father died."

Hak is quite for a moment, and the two of them eat chips for a little longer, listening to the sounds of the food fight.

"My parents are dead," Hak tells her. "I never knew them. I suppose it's-"

"YOU BLOODY SHITS!!!" Yun bellows.

"Hak, where did Yun go?" Yona whispers as silence settles over everyone.

"He had to use the restroom," Hak replies, also whispering.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS MESS! I STEP OUT TO USE THE RESTROOM AND WHEN I COME BACK, YOU HAVE MANAGED TO START A FOOD FIGHT!"

"Zeno started it!" Lili shouts.

"No, it was you!" Kija snarls.

"Zeno apologizes for declaring it a food fight," Zeno announces. "But Lili threw her food, which landed on Kija, who then retaliated. And Zeno declared it a food fight."

"What a pain," Yun mutters. "Hey, where's Hak and Yona?" Yona looks at Hak, who shrugs and takes a another chip from her bag.

"Under the table," Shin-ah remarks.

"We have chips," Yona declares as she crawls out. "Come on, Hak, let's join the rest of them."

Hak grudgingly follows Yona out from under the table.

"What a pain," Yun groans again. "Ugh. Well, come on, let's just order pizza."

Everyone cheers.

"Also, help me clean up!" Yun calls as he disappears to order the pizza.

"By the way," Yona says, turning to Hak. "Do you think I could have your number?"

Hak seems to blush a little. Curious. "Sure," he mutters, and pulls out his phone. "Here, add yourself."

Yona grins and hands him her phone. "Okay, done," she says when her contact's been added. "I look forward to meeting you in the future, Hak."

Hak smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll be good."

"By the way, if any of you start throwing the pizza I will kick all of you out!"

"Yes, Mother," everyone says, chastised. Even Hak and Yona say it, despite having spent most of the time under the table.

"I don't recall giving birth to you all!!"